BLURRING THE EDGES

a vignette for 'The French Lieutenant's Woman' {film}
By Cappuccino Girl

Rating: General. 
Disclaimer: Not mine. The characters belong to John Fowles 
and Harold Pinter.  All script excerpts have been lifted directly 
from the film.
Warning: If you have not seen the film, do not read this. It 
will make no sense to you and it will spoil your enjoyment of 
it. 

Summary:  Had an author in 1968 unwittingly written this 
part of her life for her? 





"And action!"

"Why did you ask me here? What do you want of me?"
"I saw the newspaper advertisements long ago --"
"You saw them? You read them? And did nothing?"
"Yes. I changed my name."
"Then you have not only caused my ruin, you have taken 
pleasure in doing so."
"You misjudge me. It has taken me time to find my own 
life it has..." Anna turns away, her face blank. "Shit."

"Cut! It's fine. Take five," the director calls.   

"What are my lines again?"  Anna asks, leaning over to 
reach one of three bottles of water which sit on the only 
window ledge that is out of frame. She unscrews the lid and 
takes a swig. They've been shooting since 8 AM this 
morning and she can't seem to remember a thing.  

"You misjudge me. It has taken me this time to find my 
own life. It has taken me time to find my freedom," an 
assistant monotonously reads.  

Anna nods, hoping she can store this for as long as she 
needs. She snatches the script for a further second and 
scans over the scene. She thinks, is this reason why I can 
no longer retain a simple set of words, why I cannot focus 
my emotions properly? Is that reason standing on the other 
side of the room, staring out of the window with his back to 
the others? 

Could Sarah drift away? She has never really existed 
anyway. She is a figment of the imagination, and this too, 
this room with its bright lights and Mike dressed as Charles 
who two weeks ago had been just Mike, Mike naked and in 
Exeter, was now again his character. Would Anna play with 
Charles? Would she use him? Or would Sarah fling Mike 
aside? Would she write her story for Mike in advance and 
then use him like a sexual  chess piece? Had she already 
done so? Had an author in 1968 unwittingly written this part 
of her life for her? 

"Positions everyone!"

Anna  takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment 
so brief that no one notices, then walks towards Mike (or is 
it Charles?) and awaits instructions. There are none. 

"Action."

"... it has taken me this time to find my own freedom."
"Freedom!"
"Yes."
"To make a mockery of love, of all human feeling. Is that 
all Exeter meant to you? One brief interaction of the flesh? 
Only that? You have planted a dagger in me and your 
'damned freedom' gives you a license to twist it in my 
heart. Well, no more!"
"No!" She cries and throws herself onto Charles. He 
struggles to break Sarah's hold on him and eventually flings 
her off. Even while being thrown, she does not lose the 
same mystic quality she had when she braved the sea 
spray and wind back in Lyme. This time, however, she hits 
her head badly on the step as she falls. 

"Cut!"

Mike gives Anna his hand and helps her up off the floor. 
She fakes a smile at him. The next moments: what are 
they, what must she say? What will Sarah say through her?

"Mr. Smithson, I called you here to ask your forgiveness. 
You loved me once..." 

Would Anna give her character the benefit of the doubt? 
Was she honest in her plea? "We've got to talk. Properly," 
Mike had pleaded with her in London, and they had agreed 
that here, in Windermere, was the place. Did this scene not 
suffice? Was it not enough to conclude that, having first 
kissed for the camera and not out of self initiation, their 
relationship could be discussed in much the same manner? 

"You loved me once. If you still love me, you can forgive 
me."

She does not need forgiveness. She, Anna, is beyond reproach. 
She has fallen for Mike as Sarah; temporary insanity. Even
Grogan in the script said that Sarah was close to madness. 
Anna has played her that way, staring into the mirror, mad 
eyes. Was Anna not thinking clearly when she kissed Mike, 
when she fucked Mike, when she woke up one morning and he 
answered the phone in her room and the knowledge spread of 
their status? Is she even Anna and is he even Mike? Or is he 
needy and gullible Charles who fell for a cunning, beautiful 
woman and followed her around the country on a silk thread? 
She had told him where they would talk. They would talk in 
Windermere, not in London, not over the telephone. She 
dictated what happened, what didn't. When. Where. 

"You can forgive me. I know it is your perfect right to 
damn me."

The book has two endings. She knows this, has read them 
both carefully and prepared herself for the possibility of 
playing either, of playing both and the decision being made 
on the cutting room floor as to which lives and which ends 
in the waste paper bin. Anna could call herself fortunate 
because Sarah, this Sarah, cinematic Sarah, wants to see 
whether she is capable of a fairytale outcome. Anna raises 
her eyebrows at this thought. Naïve woman. She thought 
she would become a whore if she were to go to London. 
She had foresight, intelligence, then. Now she believes in 
true love. 

"Ok. Let's get this final scene done everybody," the director 
calls from behind the camera where he has been watching 
the past few takes on a portable monitor. 

Anna fixes Sarah's skirt and scarf, Sarah's red curly hair. 
She will leave the wrap party early tonight. It is too late 
for alternative endings now. 




~finis~

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the author loves feedback. please send any and all to 
           cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com