Examining V for Vendetta – Film, Graphic Novel, and Interpretation
It would have been pretty interesting to write this about the time of the release of the film version of Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta. Not able to see the film on its first release however, this is late and may be of limited interest, but I’m oddly moved to write it. And, to be honest, I feel that taking some more time with this interesting book and film may be more enriching than a quick and dirty review. V for Vendetta is a film which develops with the second, more closer viewing in my opinion.
So, let’s go... warning, contains spoiler elements (but you also need to probably see and read the original texts first anyway):
V for Version
The film version of Moore and Lloyd's V for Vendetta is worthy of mention as an interesting, and at first glance unsuccessful, adaptation of the original graphic novel. I’m not convinced that the film is unsuccessful as an adaptation, albeit the necessity of some minor and major changes to the original material motivated by:
- the nature of the film’s primary market (the US),
- the inevitable limitations of taking a novel and compressing it into a film, and
- maintaining the relevancy to wider political events that motivated the original work.
Overall, my key argument will be that it is this final point – the contextual relevance of the material – that redeems the film project from the status of failed adaptation which some have argued the film to be. As a mainstream release (particularly) the relevance of the content of the film to wider political issues makes this an interesting and timely film project, and one that – possibly – could not have been realised without the industry clout of Andy and Larry Wachowski.
Who Cares?
Before making an assessment of the worth or worthiness of any film, we need to ask what is at stake and why do we care? Many film projects are worthy of study, even if the analysis is simply a successive list of failures because of the importance of the subject matter or the attempts of the film maker to enrich the subject, while other films are pure escapism and should not be treated with more seriousness than the director or writer has provided in their treatment.
Given the era of production, and the – at times very earnest – attempts of the film makers, V for Vendetta is a relevant film for the age of the War on Terror, not because the film is particularly poignant, but that as a mainstream US release with cross-over appeal to the action market its consumption will be quiet large.
As a film project, the idea of taking a textually dense graphic novel like V for Vendetta onto the big screen is an interesting idea, given the original version contained a stark but impressive visual style which reflects well the period of its creation (both “Thatcher's Britain”, that clichéd period of neo-liberal ascendency, but also the low water mark of the post-War economic “recovery” of the UK, something marked in the graphic novel through references to shortages and rationing that modern audiences, and particularly non-European viewers, are unlikely to sympathise with or understand) and some of the key literary and “low” culture references (including the use of children’s literature strongly throughout the narrative, via explicit references to the Magic Faraway Tree).
Political anarchism is not a popular subject for literature (as opposed to other forms of political organisation commonly found in science fiction literature, such as Heinlein’s individualist liberalism, for example), and so the representation of this highly misunderstood political philosophy on the screen is a worthy project.
Taking complex graphic novels (as opposed to “pulp” franchise storylines, like the X-Men) into film is commonly problematic (although the introduction of the first X-Men film, with its establishment in a concentration camp does add initial depth to this franchise), and I would argue that similarly complex and political manga, such as Nausicaä of the Valley of Wind to Warriors of the Wind (which is complex in terms of the political and ecological narrative of the novels) or Appleseed to various Anime and CGI versions (which has very complex cybernetic/political theory themes) has been very unsuccessful to date1. These two examples are well presented on screen (visually stunning at times, particularly through developments in CGI), but their complex narratives and ideas are lost to action, something that V for Vendetta largely avoids.
Indeed, fans of the Wachowski brothers’ previous films (particularly the first Matrix movie) will be disappointed by the film, which lacks, almost completely, the action sequences which made those films so successful. With two small exceptions, the visual style of the Matrix movies is not employed in the film, which tends to focus more on relatively set piece work using stages. To say, however, that V for Vendetta references the Matrix is to reverse the order of influence, with the assault on Jordan Tower clearly influencing the construction of the rescue of Morpheus in the earlier Wachowski brothers’ work. At the film project has been under consideration for many years, this should not be too surprising.
From the comparative view of adoption to the value of the initial work itself, it is important to review the key themes of the graphic novel, I believe, to get a good understanding of the complexity that the Wachowski’s took on with this project. I can identify five (V) key themes, each with a number of sub-elements of note. These are (linkages to the film are noted also):
Revenge, at three levels:
At the personal level V seeks revenge against the apparatchiks of the State involved in his/her persecution and against bullies and thugs who use State power to terrorise others). In this way (and the ruthless treatment of “minor” foot soldiers, such as police), the graphic novel references the Nuremberg trails, allowing the film a counterpoint to issues of “extraordinary rendition” (directly mentioned in the film to strike the point for the casual viewer), with specific visual references to the treatment of enemy combatants and the “disappeared”.
At the political level the wider narrative reflects, reiterates, and extends the historical conflict between anarchists and fascists (totalitarianism representing the extreme endpoint of authoritarianism). Because the novel is explicit about the fascist basis of the Norsefire regime, the distinction between the personal and the societal is clear in the motivation of V. While this is less explicit in the film version (more apparent through the use of iconography), it is retained and thus allows the anarchist to identify with the destructive nature of V’s revolutionary anarchy with less explicit viewer a point of reference through dramatic alterations to narrative (an oft criticised point in the film).
At the meso level the novel illustrates how the personal and the political are clearly intertwined. V begins his/her vendetta against comparatively “minor” figures in the regime (a point lost through the construction of the grand conspiracy narrative in the film version, as discussed below), but through this begins his wider assault on the State. The relationship between State-sponsored violence and interpersonal subjugation and violence is illustrated well in the narrative role played by the marriage of Mr and Mrs Almond (and thus marks Moore apart from the socially conservative anarchists, such as Proudhon), which dovetails nicely into the Leader’s assassination in the graphic novel – an element sacrificed for the film’s more direct conspiracy story, but a plot element too complex for direct incorporation in the film version.
Personal responsibility:
As above, personal responsibility also can be seen as a micro and macro thematic in the graphic novel and film, connecting the personal with the political. This appears, both in terms of the individual major characters to whom V interacts with, but also at a wider level – as evidenced by his/her “sacking” broadcast2 and the eventual dialogue between V and Evey about the difference between the “land of do as you please” and “take what you want”. Overall, this key distinction allows Moore (V’s monologues are Moore’s voice to the reader) to observe that one can “be forced to be free” through revolution and/or revolt, but how this freedom is used remains up to the individual (illustrated by the descent into chaos, but not anarchy (e.g. complete and conscious revolution) in the end of the graphic novel).
Rebirth / recreation / development:
Possibly the most significant element of the overall plot, the novel revolves around five (V) key “transformations” – the creation of V himself (the original, see below), the transformation of Evey from victim (but not an innocent, as virginalised in the film) into active figure, the descent and reawakening of Finch, the shift of Mrs Almond from “party wife” (docile, subservient fascist matron) to “fallen woman”/assassin, and the wider social awakening through rebellion (an act that, in some anarchist literature, is held as a useful precursor to revolution – the film skips revolt and opts for direct revolution).
Even at the end of the more detailed graphic novel the question remains, who is V? This is not simply in terms of the identity of “the” V who is recognised by his/her initial victims as “the man in room 5”, but also if the protagonist is actually this individual or another successor (as Evey also becomes) of the “original”. This is hinted throughout the novel (particularly in the distinction between Surridge’s description of V in her diary and her bedroom). At this level the question is: does it really matter who V is? Is it significant, particularly given he/she considers themselves as emblematic as an idea – a point of view that one could consider egocentric, if V actually wanted personal recognition, but he/she seeks the anonymous “total” death (through the Viking funeral and destruction of Dr Surridge’s notes). The ambiguity matters, but is lost in the film version by illustrating that V is the man from room five.
Positive and negative freedom:
Unlike the conventional view of freedom as either positive (freedom to do something, to be empowered to do) or negative (freedom from cohesive power, e.g. an absence of the power of the state), the novel takes a holistic view to freedom. One is free when one escapes the confines of the state (as per V’s absolute freedom of escape from Larkhill) and when the coercive power of the state does not bind through fear; hence the importance of Evey’s “rebirth” through her faux imprisonment and torture, a theme with strong similarities with the lye hand burning scene in Palahniuk’s Fight Club (both versions). Finch, similarly, uses LSD to free himself from the strictures of the party perspective (something he claims to have escaped vis-à-vis the Nuremberg defence, but clearly cannot), and releasee his suppressed humanity. The irony, of course, lies in the juxtaposition of Finch’s use of illicit drugs (as a man of order, he requires an external agent to invoke disorder in himself) and the place of his liberation (a prison). Thus, just as Creedy turns cop, Finch’s insight into the mind of the criminal V reflects on, and reiterates, the absurdist nature of “legitimate use of violence” (that is, State power).
The power of ideas / simulacra:
From the mirror positions of Finch and Creedy, the graphic novel is clear about its position regarding the social construction of power. This argument is a particularly strong theme in the novel, with is particularly revealed through the insecurity provided by the organs of State repression (eating away at the relationship of the Heyers, the insecurity of symbols of power to destruction by V, the toxic dependence of the Leader on his computer – so aptly named Fate), but clearly enunciated by V who states that the Rousseauian general will is only a thin fiction and that “It does not do to rely too much on silent majorities … for silence is a fragile thing. One loud noise and it’s gone”. 
Gender roles are fluid here, capturing the fact that V’s gender is vague, and appropriately so (Moore was less than honest when he stated that the idea of a “transsexual terrorist” was buried by the publisher’s reluctance). This dovetails neatly into the nature of the relationship between V and Evey, which remains complex and somewhat problematic, given her comparatively young age at the entry of the novel (16). For Evey, a heterosexual, V is masculine, but why? Only because of the performative nature of V’s activities during “his” incarnation – does this remain or change when Evey becomes V? In this way V clearly is a simulacra of good (the agent of change, the active force) and evil (“a man of wealth and taste” in the novel, a “monster” in the film version).
More specifically on the film
Taking this list of themes, we can see that they are all represented in the film, to more or lesser degrees. Certainly it is safe to say that quite a number of the themes are considerably constrained, such as the anarchic basis of V’s philosophy which is far less overt. However, the film does drag from the amount of expository contained within it, and the way the anarchic thematic are worked into the film cannot be seen to delete Moore’s philosophical basis for the narrative.
We have to recognise that the nature of the film medium similarly works against the slower pace of the graphic novels. Moore’s original series unfolds over – though the actual length of time is unclear – several years4, as evidenced by Evey’s maturation from youth to woman as part of her metamorphosis from victim to anarchist
(or antichrist in the film, with it subtle inclusion of the Nietzschian “… [will] to power” – Moore, like Nietzsche is an anti-Christian). This is not captured in the film, with Evey failing to take on the role of V, and a more concrete ending used to resolve ambiguity (either a good or bad thing depending upon your point of view, but a common requirement of film adaptations, and one that trapped the final two Matrix into the problem of moving beyond Neo’s god-like powers bestowed at the conclusion of the first film).
Criticisms of the film
It is easy to pick away at this film, and certainly the complexity of the narrative (attempting to retain the five themes, and compact key elements of the graphic novel into 132 minutes) makes it less user-friendly for the audience than other adaptations that restrict their view to a few characters or abridged story.
With this in mind, I’ll note, but skip the following criticisms:
- Dialogue
- Continuity, particularly clothing choices between set and stock footage, and shifts from exteriors to sets
- Prologue, which should have been cut for releases Commonwealth countries
- The use of a deus ex machina to explain (a second time) the St Mary’s conspiracy that is oddly (and unpleasantly) like the mask mechanism overdrawn in the Australian made TV version of Mission Impossible
Instead, it is more important to focus on two main criticisms of the film:
The St Mary’s conspiracy must be seen as a stolid device in the film which significantly undermines the original impact of the underlying narrative of the graphic novel. While Moore has repudiated his construction of the decent into fascism following the longevity of Thatcher’s government, the core element that made the story compelling was not that there was an underlying evil conspiracy behind the rise of Norsefire, but that the tendency for populations – under pressure from external forces – to collapse and surrender themselves to totalitarian governments was ever present. Thus, Norsefire’s not (as it is in the film), an unnatural cancer in the heart of the nation, but a accepted part of the lives of most of the criticizes of the regime. The conspiracy narrative, therefore, undermines the power of the pre-history of the story. A question remains whether this represents simple expediency (and thus a clichéd use of an old plot device) or is a more explicit attempt to link the narrative to various conspiracy theories associated with the September 11 attacks (either the “grand” narrative of a Zionist conspiracy (or similar), or the cynical view that the Bush administration let “one through to the keeper”). Either way, this undermines part of the core of the original social criticism as presented by Moore.
Secondly, and more problematically, while the film manages to show the brutality of the fascist state – particularly in the treatment Gordon – the general environment and setting of the film steers well away from that of the graphic novel. While the film makes a brief reference to rationing (the absence of fresh butter counter pointed against the fact that the majority of characters are extremely well dressed), the creeping scarcity of centralised planning has been omitted. Indeed, ignoring the spoken references to deprivation and persecution, the future fascist state appears bountiful indeed, with JVC flat panel televisions and an attractive array of sportswear to be had by all. Illustrator David Lloyd saw the ruthlessness of power, capturing this in general design. In this way, the film is reminiscent of Fatherland, an alternative history thriller about Nazi victory in Europe where the fascist state does not descend into soviet-style deterioration, but economic success, a worldview illustrative of the naivety of the filmmaker and ignorant of the nature of political totality. In this regard, therefore, it is less effective than other dystopic film adaptations, particularly films like Atwood’s The Handmaids Tale which manages to illustrate the horror of a dictatorship more stark (in this case a more overt theocracy), or the range of other post-disaster/dictatorship films (1984 or Brazil / 12 Monkeys).
The relevance of the film
In the end, it’s this last criticism that revolves around the value of the film. In making an adaptation that is so recognisably similar to the graphic novel (character names are largely preserved3, the setting (England) is preserved (surprising, given the use of a pastiche of Americanisms for the Matrix films (filmed in Sydney)), key plot elements from the graphic novel are (re)used, as well as “minor” elements that preserve the feel of the original (such as the use of the banana peel and the vaudevillian feel of Gordon’s petty resistance)) the choice of differences can not be seen as anything but important and relevant to the way the film makers perceived this project to be headed.
The clear differences between this film and its source (with the necessities of media and audience removed) make the interpretation far more political and relevant than a “straight” interpretation of a novel conceived over a quarter of a century ago. The film makers have been explicit with their interpretative role, clearly moving around the order of narrative elements that are kept, and being explicit in their reference to current affairs. An approach to the graphic novel that could be seen as insensitive to the original could have easily been undertaken – essentially making an action movie in the “dark knight” vein of some of the Batman franchise, but instead the film makers have been explicit in poking the sensibilities of their US audience: clear filmic references to human rights abuses by the US, emphasis on terrorism and Islamophobia (the modification of “Storm Saxon” to include an Islamic antagonist), and particularly the highlighted emphasis on the role of Creedy’s secret police. The concession to modesty, therefore (or possibly the concession of the fear of economic loss) is only the refusal to move the film to the US – a much more provocative idea, but one in keeping with the political sensitivities of the filmmakers. Thus, for all its flaws, it must be recognised that the film version of V for Vendetta is both true to many of the key ideas which informed its source material, while being unapologetic regarding the role of the film makers in interpreting and adding value to the original material employed. Had the two major flaws of the film been avoided (which could have been achievable, possibly through more explicit pruning of the original characters and scenes), a timely and relevant interpretation could have reached the status of a subversive film, in the same way that Independence Day represents a deep assault on the political values and assumptions of the United States during the first Gulf War.
Endnotes
1 Ghost in the Shell, on the other hand, received better treatment through the Stand Alone Complex series.
2 Sadly replaced with a relatively bland dialogue in the film which leaves no doubt about V’s objectives and motivations rather than the more vaudevillian and surreal original, which captures V’s obvious insanity
3 With the exception of Adam Susan, who, as “High Chancellor” gains a less feminine name, as well as a more direct route to power (and thus more closely mirroring Hitler than in the original text).
4 In the film version, the narrative in compressed to a year, while the back story is drawn out.




