‘Translating John Malkovich’

Translating John Malkovich Lynn Turner Did you just call me ‘Lotte’? (Being John Malkovich) [Voice] is part of the body but because it traverses the body, because it disposes of it, it retains almost nothing of it, comes from elsewhere and goes elsewhere, and in passing it may give to this body a locus but does not depend upon it [. . .] insofar as ‘its own place’ is sexually determined [. . .] Voice can betray the body to which it is lent, it can make it ventriloquize as if the body were no longer anything more than the actor or the double of another voice, of the voice of the other, even of an innumerable, incalculable polyphony. (Derrida 1995a: 161) ‘God weeps over his name’ (Derrida 1985: 184). Forbidding the translation of his own proper name he also demands it, cries out for it. From the covert sale of 15 minutes of being someone else, to the group possession of the ripe vessel, the one who should be stable, discrete and proper, who should be capable of authoring exchanges, John Malkovich, is himself put into circulation as a commodity. Being John Malkovich sets forth this circulation through the yarn of the body as vessel accessed by an unlikely portal – a portal without sexual discrimination – hidden behind a filing cabinet in one of the nondescript offices of the equally unlikely 71/2th floor of the Mertin–Flemmer building. Claims upon this vessel occur via the name. Malkovich undoes Malkovich. Malkovich undoes Malkovich, willingly, and repeatedly, and without knowing that he does so. Craig Schwarz (John Cusack) projects himself into the Malkovich vessel in the erroneous belief that he can instrumentalize it, overcome it with his own signatorial force only to be himself sublated. Desiring to have the vessel as just one more puppet in his workshop, Craig ends up following his own description of puppeteering as ‘the idea of becoming someone else . . . Being inside another skin. Moving differently, thinking differently, feeling differently’, but for rather more than his calculated ‘little while’. I want to think of the movement at stake here as a translation. This translation, following Walter Benjamin’s idiosyncratic use of the term, bears upon the working of metaphor, translates the workings of metaphor such that its smooth claims for natural resemblance are uprooted and therefore disarticulated. The disarticulation that interests me is the erotic one occurring in this film to contrasting degrees when Malkovich and Maxine (Catherine 132 Pe rf o rm a n c e R e s e a r c h 7 ( 2 ) , p p . 1 3 2 – 1 3 7 © Ta y l o r & F ra n c i s L td 2 0 0 2 Translating John Malkovich 133 Keener) have sex, firstly with Lotte (Cameron Diaz) ‘inside’ the vessel, and secondly with Craig bent upon pulling the strings. Puppet-man, dog-boy, doll-face: these are the less than flattering portmanteau names with which Maxine addresses Craig, names that mark his auteurial decay. She only bothers to use his given name at the height of her manipulation of him – coincidental with the necessity to retain (her) control over the Malkovich vessel. (Whereas Lotte keeps her name for Maxine even when she is being John Malkovich.) But Craig’s name has been in shreds ever since he left the fictional sanctuary of his private puppet theatre. If Craig attempts mastery through practising puppetry as an art form, performing a desire to be recognized as a Puppeteer, the banality of his existence is thrust upon him as he hangs up his puppet following the puppet show which opens Being John Malkovich. In voice-off a woman’s voice calls Craig out of his reverie: ‘Craig, honey, time for bed’. He does not respond. The screen fades to black. Before the next scene fades up the dull familiarity of the previous voice-off is parroted by another: ‘Craig, honey, time to get up, Craig, honey, time to get up. . .’. A cockateel perched on Craig’s head is visually remarked as its source. Truly regardless of intent, yet, insofar as it is morning, felicitously, it really is time to get up. Craig Honey is unresponsive. This is only one of many instances in the film where speech is shown to function through conventionality not intentionality. The coup de théâtre of entering the uncanny environment of the 71/2th floor, after which all scenes become a puppet theatre of some description, simply marks an acceleration of these idiosyncrasies of communication and perspective. It also marks the point at which Craig’s fantasy of controlling the theatrical scenes that he would author begins to come undone. Stepping into the corridor of the 71/2th floor, he is obliged to bend almost double since the whole environment is radically scaled down. As the viewer knows, Craig already has a double in the form of his puppet. Only for him is this floor uncanny: he is used to manipulating movement within small spaces rather than having his own movements determined by them. Everyone else accepts it at face value. On arrival at Lester Corp for his job interview, having succumbed to the pedestrian necessity of work, Craig’s name is the first thing to be subjected to the violent repetitions of the secretary, Floris: my name is Craig Schwartz, he says, have a seat Mr Juarez, comes the reply. Having sex with Malkovich/Craig is filmed in marked contrast to that with Malkovich/Lotte. Maxine collects Malkovich from a dress rehearsal of Richard III, where his lines again converge with the direction of the main narrative in the form of a literal prediction. Richard/Malkovich, having seduced Lady Anne through the force of his wit alone (overcoming having recently murdered her husband and father, as well as his own notorious physical deformity) crows Was ever woman in this humour woo’d? Was ever woman in this humour won? Interrupting himself at the arrival of Maxine, he breaks off. Had he continued, the next line would have declared ‘I’ll have her; but I will not keep her long!’ This speech act, albeit a ‘pretended’ one, nevertheless predicts exactly what will transpire for Malkovich/Craig vis-a-vis Maxine – but for reasons quite at odds with those enforced by Richard, then Duke of Gloucester. Malkovich cuts to a two shot of Malkovich/Craig and Maxine fucking on the couch. Like the scene with Malkovich/Lotte and Maxine (below), it is clearly framed as the passionate afternoon sex of new lovers but here their bodies are in full frame, given emphasis since both have bare legs. The film foregoes an easy and habitual breast shot even as Craig mechanically and repetitively instructs Malkovich to ‘Move right hand across left breast now’ in a scene framed similarly to a pornographic come shot. The film does not employ any music to weight the scene, for example as romantic or sexy. Craig’s mutterings are directed to himself and to (controlling) Malkovich rather than to Maxine who remains unaware of the substitution. Craig’s voice begins as a variety of stage whisper, both quiet as if bed. She has after all, as far as he can be aware, been behaving like a groupie, soliciting a famous name for sex. As he runs his hand up to her breast, Maxine checks his watch and declares herself early. An extremely awkward and inane conversation on the sofa ensues. They sit far apart. No point-ofview shots are given. When the clock turns 4.11pm exactly, the time of her date with Lotte rather than Malkovich, Maxine’s behaviour dramatically alters. She turns towards Malkovich, showing interest in ‘him’ for the first time and coyly says ‘hi’ waving in ‘his’ direction. He, unsurprisingly, appears a little mystified but plays along, saying ‘hi’ back to her. As she moves towards him romantic music codifies their encounter. Two types of shot are used – either the two-shot with the pair of them in frame at varying distances, or the point-of-view shot connotative of Lotte’s viewpoint and her perceptions to the exclusion of those of Malkovich. At no time does the film approximate Maxine’s viewpoint, thus the audience is never aligned with her in terms of spectatorial identification and is obliged to take Maxine’s word for it that Lotte’s ‘feminine presence’ can be sensed behind Malkovich’s ‘too prominent brow and male pattern baldness’. In distinction to the first time Lotte inhabited Malkovich, where her voice-over was coded as the repetition of his lines (though the authority of his voice was being supplemented by Chekhov’s script), here his speech unconsciously and ironically follows hers in the adoring repetition of Maxine’s name. Maxine kisses Malkovich, moving to sit astride him as he reclines on the sofa, putting himself into her hands. Through the oval framing of Lotte’s hidden viewpoint we see Maxine’s smiling face as she and Malkovich begin to caress each other. Lotte giggles nervously but with pleasure, murmuring ‘Oh Maxine, my sweet Maxine’. As if in direct response, Maxine addresses Lotte by name, telling her she loves her. Briefly the scene continues, but then it breaks, cutting to the two-shot, dropping the music, and, although Maxine continues to kiss Malkovich’s neck, he looks perplexed and asks her whether she did in fact just call him ‘Lotte’. Switching back to Lotte’s Turner not to be overheard, and loud since his voice is miked up much more prominently than that of Maxine, who consequently seems very distant. Unlike Lotte, Craig does not call out Maxine’s name at all, and when he subsequently informs Lotte of his success this is framed entirely in terms of his pleasure in gaining motor control over Malkovich. The strength of Craig’s delight in manipulating Malkovich spills over into speech: exclaiming ‘Holy shit, yes!’ as he moves Malkovich’s hand, Malkovich in a strangled squawk repeats his words. Recognizing that Malkovich is not himself, Maxine assumes that Lotte has been able to ventriloquize him. Craig attempts to extend his articulation of Malkovich and to use his body as a convenient mask, obliging Malkovich to claim to be Lotte, albeit still through a speech which contorts his face and his voice. Again Malkovich interrupts himself – this time from a role that he was not aware of inhabiting. As Maxine attempts to placate his panic, Malkovich seizes the term with which she casually addresses him, ‘doll-face’, recognizing its implications, and leaves the scene. At first Lotte misrecognizes the experience of the vessel, of being John Malkovich, as telling her something about the truth of her own ‘being’ (saying ‘I’ve decided I’m a transsexual’). Malkovich, however, soon becomes the vehicle, the point of articulation, for her sexual relationship with Maxine. Seduced by the shock of Maxine’s flirtation, a shock derived from her change of context – her contingent inhabitation of Malkovich enabling her to become the recipient of another woman’s address, Lotte accepts the limited terms of her prosthetic contact with Maxine and arranges a date with her and via Malkovich. Being John Malkovich gets Lotte translated.1 Being John Malkovich lets Lotte have Maxine. It is Maxine’s attention (an interpellation from without) that clinches Lotte’s obsession with being Malkovich above and beyond the sensations of the body of the other: Maxine mediates her experience of being him. Opening the door of his apartment to Maxine, Malkovich assumes that they will go straight to 134 Translating John Malkovich 135 viewpoint, she is silent as if afraid of being found out. Maxine smiles and asks him whether he minds. In close-up, though still in profile, he pauses and then replies in the negative: he accepts her name. Lotte’s viewpoint resumes and henceforth the romantic music signifying their enjoyment of the scene is associated only with her perspective – arguably it also informs Maxine’s participation through their verbal address to each other, using each other’s names. Since Lotte remains hidden this is the only way the film can present her as part of the scene – by calling her into it. Since the notional perspective of Lotte within Malkovich is also aligned with that of the audience – we see what she sees and, like her, we cannot see ourselves – the repetitive use of her name both names the audience as ‘Lotte’ rather than ‘Malkovich’ and remarks on the apparatus of identification that it choreographs: the postal address of the look is shown as that of a contingent apparatus. Slipping over to a different point in the circuit of this apparatus, the picture changes for Lotte. Malkovich, unwittingly sandwiched between the two of them, is reduced to his use value as a point of mediation which manages to vehicle an erotic intensity without particular emphasis upon distinct bodies.2 Unusually for cinematic sex, both visible parties remain fully clothed, even when we see Malkovich’s hands caressing Maxine’s breasts he does so through her dress. Although Maxine dazzles both Lotte and Craig she never becomes contained by spectacle. Maxine crafts the narrative, though her look, desired by both Lotte and Craig, is never inhabited by the camera/the audience. Although it is clear that Maxine has straddled Malkovich, none of the shots emphasize the movement of fucking; instead they concentrate upon the verbal exchange framing this scene. Language – or more specifically the incantation of the proper names hovering at the edges of language – directs the cinematic rendition of this sex. That this exchange occurs mainly through the illocutionary repetition of their names contributes to the construction of Malkovich as a vessel that can transport any contingent relation. Though this sequence ends before any indication of orgasm for Maxine or Malkovich, when Lotte is expelled she falls on her back and remains lying on the grass verge, her face shiny, elated by her experience, her sexual pleasure strongly implied. Does Malkovich cry out for translation?3 He cries out for Maxine, readily giving up his name. Accepting the substitution of a seemingly random woman’s name pulled from the air, he colludes in his own effacement. Even his cries repeat those of Lotte. This substitution is not a metaphor insofar as Lotte bears no necessary resemblance to Malkovich: she is not like him. They do not match. In this contiguity of subjects who look – Malkovich; Lotte; the audience – anyone can step into Malkovich’s shoes. In the vein of allegory, ‘any person, any thing, any relationship can mean absolutely anything else’ (Benjamin 1998: 175). But following in his footsteps, they/we incorporate his mode of signification, following him in every detail. The only similarity linking ‘Malkovich’ and ‘Lotte’ is their subscription to the set ‘proper names’, the subdivision of gender or genre sets them apart, as does given name and surname. The symbolic status of the patronym ‘Malkovich’ marks out the name that he has made for himself (a phrasing which gives the sense of the name yet requiring to be made), the name that he trades upon as a celebrated actor, and the name that signs any and every performance maintaining a borderline between the character he assumes and the artistic authority sketching that character. Star-billing rests upon the marketing of originality, Malkovich has to be the one and only auratic John Malkovich, assumed to be his own author, abysmally marked by Malkovich in that he plays ‘himself ’, and that he is destined within Malkovich to be his own copy first by Lotte, then by countless strangers, then by Craig, and ultimately by Lester and all his friends.4 Moreover, even as the film flags his name in its title, its successful transmission is continually mocked. When Craig parasitically inhabits Malkovich for the first time, he is shown as anything but successfully self-authoring and incapable of obtaining more than the vaguest recognition from his taxi driver, who can barely remember his name, let The movements of deconstruction do not destroy structures from the outside.They are not possible and effective, nor can they take accurate aim, except by inhabiting those structures. Inhabiting them in a certain way, because one always inhabits, and all the more when one does not suspect it. Operating necessarily from the inside, borrowing all the strategic and economic resources of subversion from the old structure, borrowing them structurally . . . (Derrida 1976: 24) Elsewhere I have had cause to critique Derrida’s work on translation – as it is figured in ‘Des Tours de Babel’ as a marriage contract signed by the proper names of the author and translator across the translation with a promise of the reconciliation of languages – in order to question the heteronormativity of this contract, the contract of contracts guaranteeing all subsequent contracts.6 Here, however, up against the proper name, I want to change tack slightly and suggest that Being John Malkovich, if it does not terminate this contract, nevertheless does insist upon a suppleness within its terms even as it plays them out. Playing them out, in the writing of this translation, the orderliness of the law that requires a signature and a countersignature, is precisely what is in question. The philosophical question regarding point of view – ‘who speaks?’ – becomes a legalistic ‘who signs?’ Instead of the copulation of the two names at the edge of the tongue, at the edge of the lip, being those of the author of the original text and the translator, in this scene the authority of the original is wholly expropriated. Teased out from two sides, two translators, traducteuses, manipulate the text, and manipulate a text (the patronym) conventionally assigned especial authority but now shown to remain frayed at the (selv)edges (Spivak 1995: 180). The performative repetition of their names, each calling to the other, demonstrates their need for repetition, that the name does not quite succeed in capturing or contracting a property. The interpellation of the name, fired through the Malkovich vessel, shatters it, or perhaps reveals it to be always and already shattered, reminiscent of the manner of the fragmentation of the vessel to which Benjamin compares the making of a translation (Benjamin 1992: 79). Maxine and Lotte pervade each other with their names. Their names resonate, vibrate. If Benjamin compared the relation of the translation to the original as that of a royal robe only loosely enfolding its ‘meaningful’ content, then, underneath the royal cloaking device of the Malkovich vessel there is plenty of space for the women to have sex. And in this space, this spacing, ‘where there is voice, sex becomes undecided’ (Derrida 1995a: 161). While this cloak (directly compared to ‘an expensive suit’ later in the film) may fit Malkovich, truly it does not ‘cling strictly enough to the royal person’ to prevent others slipping under its hem (Derrida 1985: 194). This cloak will turn out to be sufficiently expansive to accommodate quite a crowd. For truly ‘what counts is what comes to pass under the cape’ (194). And this cape, this cloak, this Königsmantel, joined in the metonymic train of thought of ‘Des Tours de Babel’ to a wedding dress and thus to a hymeneal narrative, turns upon the trope of virginity. The Turner alone any films in which he has actually starred. Lotte is translated into Malkovich insofar as she moves across into him. Her point of view supplants his (when the vessel is occupied all point-of-view shots are connotative of the inhabitant). Truly the original – Malkovich – is understood through the apparently secondary translation (to, again, recall Benjamin). From here the proper name as place name becomes a stage, a theatre. It becomes uncanny. The name shakes.5 Taking advantage of the instability in the name, Lotte and Maxine shake it loose a little more. This is not to say that their own (first) names are unshakeable or sealed, made watertight in some way; far from it. But that it is the patronym, culturally called upon as the guarantee of the patriarch, the patri-arkhē, the ‘patriarchive’, the origin of the father’s name, the house of the father’s name, the conservatory of his seed, that they shake (Derrida 1995b: 4, n.1). And the insemination that occurs in this scene will be a dissemination. Necessarily, 136 Translating John Malkovich virginity of John Malkovich turns out to devolve upon a forgotten orifice or portal, or the forgetting of an originary spacing which nevertheless opens a passage to his name from outside. If Jacques Derrida once critiqued Jacques Lacan’s analysis of The Purloined Letter on grounds of that letter being found, as expected, in its proper place between the legs of the giant female body that was the mantelpiece (Derrida 1987: 440), here, the generous folds of the Königsmantel of John Malkovich cannot be reduced to a ‘Königsmantel-piece,’ encompassing a content foretold. NOTES 1 As Barbara Engh pointed out to me, famous names get translated. 2 Referring to the intoxication of this situation Maxine later describes it in terms of having two people looking at her ‘with total lust and devotion through the same pair of eyes’ rather than any acknowledgement of sex or gender. Malkovich renders the complexity of this sexual encounter in a much more interesting way than, say, Ghost (Dir. Jerry Zucker, US, 1990) – in which the medium (Whoopi Goldberg) allows herself to be temporarily possessed by the titular ghost (Patrick Swayze) in order that he might kiss his lover (Demi Moore). However, the mediation is homophobically erased at the point of the kiss when Goldberg is visually substituted by Swayze. This is indeed the tyranny of metaphoric substitution, resemblance in the service of homophobia. 3 I make the link between God’s name and that of Malkovich not in simple disregard for their divine/human difference but bearing in mind the purported star status for which Malkovich is cast and the marketing of the ‘star’ as substitute for aura. 4 This is further remarked by the film since all of its major characters are cast against type. 5 ‘The name itself is the cry of naked lust’ (Benjamin, cited in Hansen 1987: 219, n.66). 6 And right here, significantly, is the spot, marked with an ‘x’, upon which the heteronormative breaches the public and private spheres: it is the union of copulation and contract. See my unpublished paper ‘Line of flight > line of plight’. REFERENCES Being John Malkovich, dir. Spike Jonze, US, 1999. Benjamin, Walter (1992) ‘The Task of the Translator’, in Harry Zohn (trans.) Illuminations, London: Fontana. —— (1998) The Origin of German Tragic Drama, trans. John Osborne, London: Verso. Derrida, Jacques (1976) Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri 137 Spivak, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. —— (1985) ‘Des Tours de Babel’, in Joseph Graham (ed. and trans.). Differences in Translation, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. —— (1987) The Postcard: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond, trans. Alan Bass, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. —— (1995a) Points . . . Interviews 1974–1994, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. —— (1995b) Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression, trans. Eric Prenowitz, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hansen, Miriam (1987) ‘Benjamin, Cinema, & Experience: “The Blue Flower in the Land of Technology”,’ New German Critique 40. Spivak, Gayatri (1995) Outside in the Teaching Machine, London & New York: Routledge.