Leading the Gaze: From Showing to Telling in Kenneth Branagh's Henry V and Hamlet
University of Paris IV Sorbonne
Hatchuel, Sarah. "Leading the Gaze: From Showing to Telling in Kenneth Branagh's Henry V and Hamlet." Early Modern Literary Studies 6.1 (May, 2000): 3.1-22 <URL: http://purl.oclc.org/emls/06-1/hatchbra.htm>.
Adapting Shakespearean plays on screen always involves a shift from one enunciative system to another. Given its verbal nature, theatrical enunciation is generally considered to be more able to 'tell,' whereas screen enunciation is usually thought to be more able to 'show' through the semiotic diversity of images and sounds it can convey. Nevertheless, film studies have reached the conclusion that cinema merges the acts of showing and telling, and introduces the figure of an exterior narrator.  Grounded on these theories, this essay argues that two of Kenneth Branagh's screen adaptations -- Henry V (1989) and Hamlet (1996) -- use narrative devices specific to cinema to modify the nature of the original plays. 
According to Robert Scholes and Robert Kellogg in their 1966 book, The Nature of Narrative, "narrative art requires a story and a story-teller" (240). They oppose that situation to drama which is "a story without a story-teller" (4). Telling implies the existence of a discursive authority which delivers the story in a given time. Narrative art, then, involves two temporal dimensions: it inscribes the time of the tale into the time of narration itself.  The following study reveals this double temporality and this discursive authority in Branagh's screen adaptations. It argues that the film techniques used by the film-maker introduce some narrative elements in Shakespeare's plays, transforming their meta-theatrical and reflexive aspects.
Identifying a double temporality comes down to finding in what phase of its making a film can play with time. A movie is usually made in three stages. The first stage can be compared to theatrical direction and organises what takes place in front of the camera (acting, mise-en-scène, setting). The second stage concerns the actual camera work during the shooting -- it is a framing process. Then, during the third stage, the filmed images are linked together -- an assembling and editing process. According to film scholar André Gaudreault, the second framing stage would still belong to showing, as it does not have any temporal freedom: the time of the story would always be the same as the time of narrative.  In this formulation, only the third editing stage is the source of narration in the movies. Cinema would, in fact, weaken the iconic aspects of images through the act of assembling them. This idea has some historical grounds. Before the work of director David Griffith in 1908, when cinema was still in its infancy and took the form of filmed theatre, narration was simply oral: the showing of the filmed images was often accompanied by the live speech of a 'smooth talker'.  The new exploitation of editing techniques added a visual narration which became integrated into the image track, while suppressing the need for an oral narration. In his 1977 book Langage et cinéma, Christian Metz comments: "the film owes to it [editing] to be something other than a mere reproduction of some pre-existing show" (121).  Editing bodies forth a discursive, organising authority, necessarily subsequent and exterior to the filmed event. It introduces the figure of a 'virtual narrator' who leads the spectators by the hand and orchestrates the focus of their gaze. This narrator can shape space at will, create different levels of realities, and reorganize the succession of events in time.
- Editing first models space by alternating action shots and reaction shots. According to Robert Edmonds in his 1992 book, The Sights and Sounds of Cinema, "in the theatre [...] we are interested in what is happening on the stage. [...] In film what we are interested in is the performers' reactions to what is happening in the drama" (13). Therefore, contrary to dramaturgy which is based on action, cinema seems to be built more upon a succession of reactions. In his screen adaptations, Branagh develops a complex economy of the gaze. In Hamlet, the 'Mousetrap' scene presents reaction shots and even some reaction shots to the reactions. The characters keep spying on one another during the performance of the Players. For example, Horatio observes Claudius carefully through binoculars. In a 1996 interview, Branagh stated his intent to play on this constant return of glances:
It felt like a very strong scene to treat cinematically and we went in determined to cover it with endless numbers of angles. In editing, we could construct it and we've spent probably more time on that scene than any other in the picture. 
In Henry V, the warlike speeches are also intercut with reaction shots. In 1944, Laurence Olivier remained theatrical by filming Henry's harangues in one take. By contrast, Branagh's exhortations present in close-ups the various reactions of the soldiers listening to their king. In his 1991 book, Still in Movement, Lorne Buchman rightly considers that this action/reaction structure which is so specific to film creates a space unknown in the theatre: the spectator has the opportunity not only to look through the eyes of the characters, but also to "travel the intimate space between those eyes" (25). The use of shots/counter-shots therefore intensifies the phenomenons of identification to the characters' points of view.
Editing builds up a tension of every instant which can be applied either to one event or to several. Two narrative lines happening in totally different places can be followed simultaneously through cross-cutting, a technique which allows a tight control of space. In Branagh's Hamlet, the speech in which the eponymous hero apologises to Laertes before the final duel is punctuated with synchronic inserts where Fortinbras' army invades the Palace of Elsinore. Thus, the film's end presents a centrifugal development of the original play. It links a private duel inside to a national war outside.
Film narration modifies not only the perception of space but also that of reality. While theatre can only present a single level of perceptible reality, movie editing can offer the different visions of one event through the eyes of the various characters. This aesthetic potential has some interesting consequences for the closet scene in Hamlet. In Shakespeare's play, the Ghost is supposed to be perceived by Hamlet only, and not by his mother who remains bewildered by the words her son addresses to an inaudible and invisible being. When this moment is performed in the theatre, the director must make a decision: either the Ghost is physically present on stage, or it is not. Yet, in the cinema, the Ghost can be both present and absent. Cinematic editing brings an essential element to that scene: it can change points of view and turn objectivity into subjectivity. Branagh's camera -- like Olivier's in 1948 and Zeffirelli's in 1990 -- first shares Hamlet's point of view and shows us the Ghost, then shares Gertrude's point of view and does not show it. The combination of those two experiences through editing makes two realities coexist within the same space. According to Buchman, the alternation of subjective visions would reflect the Ghost's ambiguous state, an entity both present and absent, and would create a dynamic tension between identification and alienation.  The spectator shares the point of view of one character (Hamlet seeing and hearing the Ghost) and is brought to identify with him, only to turn to another point of view (Gertrude not perceiving the Ghost) which alienates him or her from the former. But if editing makes possible this alternation of participation and distance, it also gives the possibility to enter a character's interior dimension by showing not only how s/he perceives space (through subjective camera shots) but what the very visions of his/her mind are. Contrary to a theatre director who can generally suggest mental images only through text, lighting effects, sound of voice and meaningful moves of the actors, the film director can penetrate literally the character's interior world. In Hamlet, Branagh reveals Ophelia's most secret thoughts. When the girl swears to her father that she will not see Hamlet any more, Branagh inserts some shots showing the loving relationship already consummated. Whether the images are only memories or mere fantasies, they display in both cases a real sinking into the girl's intimate space. Another interpolation makes us dive into Hamlet's criminal thoughts. Contrary to Shakespeare's Hamlet who hesitates to kill Claudius at prayer and finally refrains from doing so, Branagh's Hamlet decides to stab his enemy. In a quasi-subliminal depiction, the spectators see the dagger being plunged into Claudius' ear --only to be jolted back into reality. By showing what only remains a verbal dilemma in Shakespeare's scene, Branagh gives greater importance to action and will. For a short instant, the audience can believe that Hamlet has committed his killing at last.
If film editing can control space and subjective realities within a fixed length of time, it can also play with the double temporality of narrative. Through ellipsis, slow motion and flashback, it can compress, dilate or visit time in a way unmatched in the theatre. According to Gérard Genette in his 1972 book, Figures III, there are four main narrative rhythms. Each one establishes a particular relation between the time of narration and the time of the story (equivalent to diegetic time in film studies). In the pause, the story-teller contemplates one event extensively: the time of narration is 'infinitely' longer than diegetic time.  In the scene, both times are equal, displaying isochronic action.  In the summary, the action speeds up and is often presented in a series of episodes which are distant in time: the time of narration is shorter than diegetic time.  Finally, in the ellipsis, a period of time is entirely suppressed between two different actions: the time of narration is 'infinitely' shorter than diegetic time.  Shakespearean dramatic material is obviously composed largely of isochronic scenes. Nevertheless, the plays are far removed from the classical pattern: they rarely present a unity of action, time and place. Like cinema, Shakespeare makes time flexible, dilating or compressing it at will, returning to the past or visiting the future -- but he achieves those effects in an exclusively verbal mode. For example, the Chorus' speeches in Henry V link historical episodes which are separated in time, and the Epilogue gives us a glimpse of the future, stating that France will soon be lost. The metaphorical and poetical use of language creates no exterior visions on stage but interior visions in the minds of the spectators.
On the contrary, cinema works on time visually and literally, again with the help of editing. Elliptical cuts can simulate the passing of time. The audience is then left to imagine the suppressed action. Branagh frequently creates elliptical effects in a scene meant to remain isochronic in Shakespeare's original play. In Hamlet, when Horatio, Barnardo and Marcellus come to warn the Prince of the apparition, the discussion begins in the palace hall, but ends up in Hamlet's private room, as if a couple of minutes had passed by. This elliptical effect occurs when Hamlet encourages his companions to further deliver a discreet, detailed report of the event. At that point, Branagh modifies both the time of the story and the time of narration. He first creates the impression of time passing by, a time which does not exist in Shakespeare's play, and thus introduces an effect of diegetic dilation. The rhythm of narrative then displays a temporal reduction: the action which happened during that virtual time is not revealed to the audience.
On film, treating a sequence episodically is another way to compress the time of narration. This kind of sequence stands for Genette's 'summary'. In his 1978 book Essais sur la signification au cinéma, Christian Metz classifies the episodic sequence in the category of the chronological syntagms as it is a film segment composed of several shots which are obviously temporally connected.  A sequence constructed by differing episodes is generally used to present a short cut of slow, predestined evolutions. It may be defined as 'frequentative' if it aims at suggesting the repetition and/or monotony of one action. In that case, the shots are often linked by dissolves to simulate the passing of time. In Henry V, Branagh chooses to evoke an epic length by using such a technique. The march to Calais becomes an interpolated sequence in which the soldiers' superhuman efforts are implied through a succession of dissolved shots: exhausted men cross rivers under the rain and collapse in the mud while regular inserts of a French map detail the army's advance. Therefore, the passing of time is also evoked by a progression through space.
Branagh reorganizes Shakespearean plays in a spatial as well as temporal way, even exploring the characters' past through the use of flashbacks. In this respect, cinema strongly differs from theatre, a medium which is linked to the inexorable succession of time and hardly allows a turning back of the clock. Even if some theatrical productions, inspired by recent screen adaptations, begin to import past scenes in their directing choices, they nevertheless uphold the integrity of the plot's forward progression. For example, Jean-Louis Benoit's 1999 production of Henry V inserted scenes from the Henry IV plays to remind the audience of the King's debauched past, but those scenes were not 'real' flashbacks as they were confined to the very start of the play, thus protecting the linear nature of the action. Unlike the theatre, the cinema easily works as a visual, time-exploring machine. Branagh uses this possibility to illustrate moments when characters relate past events. In Henry V, flashbacks elaborate the character of Falstaff and his former friendship with the King. In Hamlet, the love story with Ophelia is developed through several flashbacks which punctuate the movie with the mode of the straight cut. But when Hamlet holds Yorick's skull and starts to remember the past, the flashback is introduced with the mode of the dissolve to evoke the effort of memory. Yorick's skull regains the living flesh of the Jester [memorially embodied through the comedian, Ken Dodd]: we shift to another time dimension while the object itself -- the skull -- remains the same.
- Still, in spite of the possibilities offered by editing for shaping space and time, some directors of Shakespearean films see cutting as a hindrance to the dramatist's verbal flow. In his 1992 essay "Shakespeare on Film and Television," Robert Hapgood quotes Michael Birkett, the producer of Peter Hall's Midsummer's Night's Dream, on the consequences of editing:
Peter Hall and I found in A Midsummer Night's Dream that there were several passages where, looking at the picture on a movieloa, without any sound, the cutting pattern seemed to be perfect. Hearing the sound track on its own, the rhythms of the speech also seemed to be fine. When the two were run together, however, the result seemed unsatisfactory. We had to evolve a style of cutting which was equally fair to the rhythm of the verse and to the rhythm of the picture (277).
For Birkett, the edited succession of images breaks the harmony and rhythm of Shakespearean dialogues and monologues. In order to avoid interfering with the harmony of the text and to protect the energy and rhythm of the actors within a scene, directors have thought of shooting whole pieces of script in continuous takes. For example, in his 1953 adaptation of Julius Caesar, Joseph Mankiewicz refrained from inserting reaction shots in order not to disturb the fluidity and emotional breath of the scenes. To organize the sequences, these directors base their work less on editing and more on camera moves. However, the use of a camera, with the effects and focus it can accomplish, marks the first step in the separation between filmed theatre and cinematic art. In 1953, in her book Feeling and Form, Susanne Langer argues that the phase of framing can make the film closer to a narrative than a dramatic presentation -- even before editing.  In his 1964 book, Logique du cinéma, André Laffay establishes a link between camera focusing and the narrative process: he invents the notion of a 'virtual narrator' -- called "le Grand Imagier" ("The Great Image-Maker") -- who would not only turn the 'pages' of the film for the spectators, but who would also draw their attention to special details of the action.  Then, in 1968, Scholes and Kellogg suggest that film "is a form of narrative rather than dramatic art because it does not present a story directly, without narration, but always through the medium of a controlled point of view, the eye of the camera, which sharpens or blurs focus, closes up or draws off" (280). It appears that moving the camera is already a source of exterior narration, and introduces different level of narrative knowledge. When the camera is held behind a character, it creates an internal focus, showing what he or she sees. Then, as soon as it acquires another shooting angle, the camera may shift to the subjective vision of another character. A director can, therefore, use many camera effects to introduce a certain form of narration without cutting the rhythm of the Shakespearean text. In his 1948 Hamlet, Laurence Olivier resorted to changes in the focus of the lens: he could thus shift the object of attention at will without the discontinuity of editing. In his own adaptation of Hamlet, Branagh applies this technique to the closet scene. Gertrude and Hamlet are seen in profile in the foreground. The Ghost appears suddenly in the background, fullface in the middle of the screen. It is out of focus but quickly becomes sharp. That change reveals the Ghost, but loses the mother and the son into blurredness. Even though the family is shown in the same shot, it is nevertheless separated on two levels, foreground and background. The aesthetic effect reinforces the divided situation of the family.
Like many Shakespearean film directors, Branagh shoots long sequences in one continuous take. According to him, the action filmed in one unbroken shot "allows the characters to interact [and] to retain a certain idea of theatre."  Nevertheless, if Branagh's long takes help to protect stage acting and the unity of a scene, it goes away from theatrical art by the very mobility of the camera, which guides the audience's gaze. In Branagh's adaptations, long whirling moves put the audience right into the heart of the action and the group of characters, regularly building a intrusive situation. The spectators share several points of view in the course of one take. According to Pierre Berthomieu in his 1998 book Kenneth Branagh, "Branagh meets [...] the Hollywood narrative aesthetic, in which the exploration of space allows to arrange signifying groups of characters" (98-99).  In other words, these curves participate in the advance of the plot by bringing at the right moment into the camera field a character, an object or an action useful to the story. 
In Hamlet, the camera moves are adapted to the labyrinthine setting, losing and finding the characters in the palace maze. During long shots which are used to film soliloquies, the nunnery scene or the confrontation with Claudius prior to Hamlet's exile, the camera turns around the action and then gets closer to an individual as if to capture his or her thoughts. The rotation ends in a forward move to intercept emotions at a particular moment. This travelling strangles space, encloses the character and often signals introspection. It is notably used to film King Henry V's night meditations, Claudius' confession and Ophelia's lament on her father's death.
By progressively revealing the people, the set or the action, the moves and effects of the lens add a time dimension to space. Contrary to the theatre in which the stage is wholly perceived at every moment, cinema can disclose little by little the elements which compose the action. Film shifts from a spatial, whole vision to a breaking of space in the course of time. This gradual unveiling introduces a narrative unfolding within the very act of showing. The camera moves offer a reading itinerary, impose a gaze on the audience, and reveal an exterior enunciation. In Branagh's films, the notion of editing can be found not only in the succession of shots but also inside the shots. The films shift from director Sergeï Einsenstein's idea of editing in which different shots are linked together, to that described by André Bazin in his book Qu'est-ce que le cinéma? in which the continuous shot becomes a window opened onto a world containing its own succession of actions. 
Framing is a phase which not only adds focus but also allows some control of time. Even before the stage of editing, it is indeed possible to introduce a gap between the length of the story and that of narration, especially through slow motion. Branagh was the first film director to extensively appropriate slow motion in Shakespearean adaptations. This effect can be frequently found in key moments of his other films, such as the apocalyptic finale in Dead Again, the creature's attack at the Sea of Ice in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, or the cheerful reunion which concludes Peter's Friends. In Henry V, the use of slow motion turns the battle of Agincourt into a dreamlike sequence verging on nightmare. Slow motion produces an effect of contemplation, of emotional and lyrical emphasis. It adds power to the combatants' blows and, by dilating time, underlines the soldiers' heroism and physical effort. But it also stresses the futility of action. When Henry hears the long howl of pain coming from the pages being slaughtered, he starts running desperately to save them. The rush is filmed in slow motion, stressing the King's inability to stop the course of tragic events.
In 1991, Lorne Buchman concluded in his book Still in Movement [which does not discuss Branagh's Henry V] that Shakespearean film directors did not take advantage enough of all the narrative possibilities of cinema as they ignored some temporal alternatives.  It is true that, until recently, directors made little use of the ellipsis, flashback, quick or slow motion. Branagh changed that habit. Through a narrative aesthetic, he reshapes Shakespeare's plays, creates story reminders and causal links which bring narrative, spatial and temporal logic. Since Henry V in 1989, we saw other directors introduce time effects in their adaptations. Baz Lurhmann used quick motion to emphasize the comic and unnatural aspects of Juliet's Mother in his 1996 William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet. Trevor Nunn also, in his 1996 film production of Twelfth Night, added flashbacks, the narrative episode of the shipwreck, as well as episodic sequences to document Viola's progressive metamorphosis into Cesario.
This space and time reorganization is now typical of the narrative adaptations of Shakespeare. But it poses the ideological problem of the transformation of the original plays' reflexive and meta-theatrical aspects. Does filmic narration conceal the act of enunciation and forbid any exposing of illusion? Or, can the mechanisms of artistry still be apparent?
It is well known that the Elizabethan stage disclosed theatrical illusion through meta-theatrical devices. Audiences were called out during monologues or asides. Mises-en-abyme, which could take the form of plays within plays, added a second level of dramatic action, while a Chorus, a Prologue or an Epilogue could alienate the spectators from the action. Meta-theatrical discourse constantly blurred the frontier between reality and fiction, and revealed the very mechanisms of theatrical production. In the cinema, Peter Greenaway has tried to find filmic equivalents to Shakespeare's meta-theatrical elements. In 1991's Prospero's Books, an adaptation of The Tempest, he often interrupts the diegetic progress with voice-over comments, speeches and gazes directly addressed to the camera/audience and mises-en-abyme of the screen. However, meta-cinema can never totally match meta-theatre in its denunciation of illusion and in the blurring between stage and audience. Whatever a film director may do, the actors on screen and the spectators in the cinema are obligated to remain apart. Meta-cinema can never totally match meta-theatre in its disclosure of illusion as it is always prevented by the primordial unreality of the movie medium and the inevitable separation between screen and audience. Christian Metz writes in his 1991 book, L'énonciation impersonnelle, "[t]here always comes a time [...] when the film cannot reveal its conditions of birth any further [...]. Even if a director films the camera, he does not reveal the act of this filming" (30).  Consequently, it would not be accurate to establish a distinction between Shakespearean screen adaptations which disclose the conditions of their creation and those which constantly foster diegetic illusion. There are only films working on different levels of illusion and which more or less make us forget the origins of their birth.
Branagh is in line with the aesthetic of narrative cinema which tries both to make diegesis -- the story told in the film -- more natural and make the film enunciation submerged within the narrative flow.  Film is shaped to provide the impression of a natural and real world, and the enunciative discourse is drowned into that universe. The cuts from one shot to another, as well as the camera moves within the shots, are, as far as possible, justified by the logic of the story, by the characters' gazes, gestures or moves. Therefore, they appear no more like a random act of enunciation but like a logical and natural effect of the diegetic world. André Bazin speaks of 'invisible editing' to evoke this 'diegetisation' of enunciation. According to him, in this type of editing, "the mind of the spectator naturally embraces the points of view offered by the director because they are justified by the geography of action and the displacing of dramatic interest" (64). Hence, even though enunciation still exists in this film aesthetic, it is hidden by (and under) narration.
Unlike Greenaway, Branagh never jeopardizes the narrative development in his screen adaptations. It is certainly possible to notice several reflexive aspects -- but they never compromise the diegetic world. In Henry V, the character of the Chorus serves as much to establish an effect of alienation as to plunge the audience into the fiction. He always appears on a meta-filmic mode, but he also invites the audience to enter the fictive story. For example, at the beginning of the film, the Chorus speaks directly to the camera in a deserted studio, then opens a huge wooden door: alienation hands over to a powerful irruption in the world of fiction. This frequent use of doors in Branagh's cinema could, in fact, be explained by a desire to import meta-dramatic elements in the films while retaining the impression of reality brought by diegesis. Doors create the reflexive effect of a screen within a screen, but they can remain frames entirely motivated by the film story. In the same way, shots through keyholes-when the faithful nobles spy on the traitors at Southampton in Henry V -- introduce a secondary screen without compromising the diegetic logic.
Even when Branagh adds short reminders or flashbacks, the reflexiveness born from such devices do not jeopardize diegesis either, but participate in its development.  In Hamlet, the sequence which starts the second half [after the 'Intermission'] is a flashback made of images already seen in the first half. Claudius' speech about the succession of 'sorrows' is, in fact, visually accompanied by a kind of summary of the previous episodes. This adaptation of Hamlet therefore presents a powerful reflexiveness as the flow of images ends up 'feeding' on itself. Yet, at the same time, this reflexiveness helps to clarify and develop the story line. Even the emphatic camera moves participate in the narration. The long, obvious circular movements start by pointing out their own enunciation, attracting the spectators' eye on their very trajectory, but they always end up dissolving into the diegesis by bringing in the field such character or such action useful to the story. Again, Branagh invites the audience to enter the diegetic world through reflexive devices.
A more general dialectic therefore exists between the acts of disclosing and creating illusion, in the theatre and above all in the cinema. The techniques that tend to reveal artificial devices can, paradoxically, also participate to some concealment of discourse. They can make enunciation disappear in a story in which events seem to be told by none other but themselves.  In the theatre, a play within a play seems to both reveal the illusion and make the first level of dramatic unreality [the main action] more real. In his psychoanalytic study on Hamlet, André Green comments on the 'Mousetrap':
[The] arrival of other actors moves forward the status of the previous ones. The first actors are confronted with actors playing the parts of actors. The presence of these second-degree players makes us forget that the first ones were actors and brings them a semblance of reality, the illusion of theatre taking refuge in the Players (84). 
Therefore, as meta-theatre in Shakespeare's plays would allow both to disclose illusion and to make the drama more real, meta-cinema would combine enunciative disclosure as well as submersion in the narrative world. In his adaptations, Branagh develops a highly elaborated narrative tendency -- very much in line with the Hollywoodian film style -- which makes the story more logical and the situations more explicit. Sometimes, enunciation pierces through narration with ostentatious camera moves or reflexive images, but it finds itself swallowed by the diegesis in the end. Through the spatial focusing and time control it implies, narration defines an itinerary of the gaze, imposes a trajectory inside Shakespeare's plays, until the plots seem -- even though it can only ever be an appearance -- to prevail over discourse. 
1. See Gaudreault (12).
2. I am greatly indebted to Kevin De Ornellas (Queen's University of Belfast) for reading carefully the first draft of this paper and for making useful suggestions.
3. See Gaudreault & Jost (14-22).
4. See Gaudreault (126).
5. See Gaudreault (163-170).
6. My translation from French.
7. See Branagh (BBC Education).
8. See Buchman (22).
9. See Genette (133-8).
10. See Genette (141-4).
11. See Genette (130-3).
12. See Genette (139-141).
13. See Metz (Essais 132).
14. See Langer (411).
15. See Laffay (80-2).
16. Quoted by Berthomieu (202).
17. I translate all quotations from the French in Pierre Berthomieu's book.
18. Branagh himself establishes a link between circular moves within a continuous take and the idea of a written narration: 'It is as if you turned the pages of a book. You had forgotten a character for a few seconds, but he comes back' (Quoted by Berthomieu 203).
19. See Bazin (166).
20. See Buchman (107).
21. My translation from French.
22. See Bergala (23).
23. According to Metz, a flashback is similar to a film within a film because of its 'partial autonomy' (Enonciation 108).
24. See Pavis (123).
25. My translation from French.
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Responses to this piece intended for the Readers' Forum may be sent to the Editor at L.M.Hopkins@shu.ac.uk.
© 1999-, Lisa Hopkins (Editor, EMLS).