In 2011, a new film version of ‘Wuthering Heights’ was
released. Despite my A-Level English teacher asserting that this book was
unfilmable, and that no film had ever been able successfully to portray it,
here there was another version, coming hot on the heels of the 2009 ITV
television miniseries (UK). How can a single book be filmed so many different
times, and with such variable quality? What new perspectives could this film
possibly bring? In fact, Andrea Arnold’s adaptation had one very striking quality
– very different from any previous portrayal, and shining a fresh(-ish!) light
on the book. The actor playing Heathcliff, James Howson, was black.
In recent years, the issue of race in fiction (books and
film) has gained a new slant. Multiculturalism is now an intrinsic part of most
of the western world (I’m speaking in particular about Britain, as that is
where I am from), and most of us would balk at any suggestion that people from
non-white backgrounds could be barred from any job or occupation. But somehow,
even liberal-thinking people don’t always apply this same principal to actors.
I can understand this to a point – as a historian, I do think films should
strive for accuracy. If a character in a historical film was white, black,
asian or whatever, he/she ought if at all possible to be played by an actor of
the same ethnicity. Unless a particular artistic point is being made (like
having an entirely black cast of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof), an actor playing King
Arthur, for example, should probably be white, perhaps ‘celtic’-looking.
Although I suppose he could be Mediterranean, if the production makes the
interpretation that he was a Roman. It works the other way, of course. While I
very much enjoyed the recent film ‘Argo’, starring Ben Affleck, I do think that
the casting of Tony Mendez, who was Hispanic, with a white actor was not
properly living up to his memory and the history. Having said this, giving a
character, especially a fictional one, an unexpected ethnicity can often add
rather than subtract. It can change the way you think about the setting and the
characters, adding a new dimension to identity. If producing a book adaptation,
this can also help you notice things you didn’t before.
Take the idea of a black Heathcliff. It’s not such an audacious
idea. There are several enticing references in the text that suggest that he
has dark skin, and certainly does not look English: ‘He is a dark-skinned gipsy
in aspect’, ‘a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway’, ‘as dark
almost as if it came from the devil’, ‘but where did he come from, the little
dark thing?’ He is also described as having black hair, black eyes and a black
countenance. None of which definitively means that Heathcliff is black, but it
certainly suggests the possibility. Many readers seem to agree that he may be
Romany gypsy, but looking at how Emily Brontë describes him, he might come from
the Indian subcontinent. And I think it does matter to the plot that Heathcliff
is not of the same ethnicity as the people around him. He is the constant
outsider, even when he is the owner of the estate, related by blood or marriage
to most other characters, and the wealthiest man around. So by casting
Heathcliff with an actor who is black makes a lot of sense artistically – a lot
more perhaps than the traditional English-looking Laurence Olivier types.
Heathcliff is not the only character in literature to be
thus treated. Othello is similarly ‘foreign’, although the outcome is somewhat different.
At the beginning of the play, Othello is at the top of his career, unlike
Heathcliff who starts out degraded. In the dramatis personae, he is described
as ‘OTHELLO, a noble moor, in the service of Venice’. He has just married
Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio, a senator, and is well-respected by the
Duke (although admittedly, Brabantio is less than happy that Othello and
Desdemona married without his consent). Yet even so, he is still defined by his
race. Iago, the villain of the piece driven by jealousy, uses very coarse and
racist language to refer to Othello, for example, ‘an old black ram is tupping
your white ewe’. Another character, Rodrigo, uses terms like ‘the thick lips’
and ‘the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor’. Othello is rarely referred to by
name during the play, but simply as The Moor. Even positive accolades refer to
his skin colour, showing that he is considered to be different to the rest: ‘Your
son-in-law is far more fair than black.’ In being treated as an outsider,
Othello, just like Heathcliff, eventually lives up to the prejudice. Both are
driven to violence and jealousy, with tragic consequences.
Othello is similar to Heathcliff is other ways too. Not only
are they both defined by being of a different race, but their actual ethnicity
is under question. Just as it is unclear whether Heathcliff is black, Indian,
Romany etc., critics are divided as to from where Othello is supposed to
originate. Today, we usually understand ‘moor’ and ‘moorish’ to refer to North
Africa and the Arab Islamic culture that comes from there. We talk about moorish
architecture, meaning the ornate and beautiful castles, palaces and mosques of
Morocco, Algeria and southern Spain. But the descriptions of Othello don’t
always seem to fit in with this, and actors playing him tend to be black rather
than middle-eastern in appearance. Again, this is a debate which is entirely
open. It is highly likely that the word ‘moor’ in the sixteenth century did not
mean what it does today; so too, black as a description of skin colour may not
have referred solely to people of sub-Saharan origins. In representations of both
Othello and Heathcliff, casting directors can and should use their own
interpretations of the texts, as well as the chemistry of the actors, to find
the right person for the job. We as viewers should not then be surprised to see
portrayals not fitting with our own personal visions.
