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Two Lolita’s
Ambiguous Morality in Nabokov and Lyne
Laureanne Willems, 3907449
January 2015
BA Thesis English Language and Culture
Utrecht University
Supervisors:
Cathelein Aaftink
David Pascoe
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Table of contents
Introduction
……………………………………………………………………………………. 3
Ambiguity by Nabokov
……………………………………………………………………………………. 4
Unreliable Humbert Humbert
……………………………………………………………………………………. 7
Humbert as a Paedophile
……………………………………………………………………………………. 10
Unreliability and Humbert by Lyne
……………………………………………………………………………………. 15
Lyne’s Unreliable Narrator
……………………………………………………………………………………. 16
Humbert’s Paedophilia in the Film
……………………………………………………………………………………. 19
Conclusion
……………………………………………………………………………………. 24
Bibliography
……………………………………………………………………………………. 26
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Introduction
“How did they ever make a movie of Lolita?”, is the question that starts the trailer of Stanley
Kubrick’s adaptation of Vladimir Nabokov’s notorious novel Lolita. And it seems a fair
question to ask, because how is it possible to adapt this complex and controversial novel to
the film medium? Nabokov finished writing Lolita in 1953 but had trouble finding a
publisher: the manuscript was rejected in the United States and it was only in September 1955
that Nabokov managed to bring out his book. In France, that is, where it was banned in 1956.
The first copies of the novel sold out quickly but in critical spheres silence reigned, until
Graham Greene openly praised the novel, calling it one of the best three books of the year in
the London Sunday Times. His statement received many replies; some critics thought the
novel was erotic, others considered it pornographic and some, like Greene, thought it was a
marvellous piece of literature.
In 1997 Adrian Lyne released his film adaptation of Lolita, and his work seems
interesting material to compare with the novel, as he incorporated many details of Nabokov’s
book into the film and has remained very faithful to the storyline. However, the ambiguity
that could be considered crucial in Nabokov, possibly saving the novel from even more
serious obscenity charges, is far less present in the adaptation. This may have been a factor as
to why the film’s reception was, like that of the novel, of quite a mixed nature. Caryn James
in the New York Times wrote a positive review of the film prior to its release in the United
States, where its distribution was initially put off. She praised the leading actors Jeremy Irons
and Dominique Swain, and complimented Lyne by writing: “The film's master stroke is its
understanding that this is Humbert's story, told in his own lyrical voice, from his own
passionate, sad, tortured perspective.” In Salon Charles Taylor wrote a review on quite a
different note, stating that “[f]or all of their vaunted (and, it turns out, false) fidelity to
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Nabokov, Lyne and Schiff [the screenwriter] have made a pretty, gauzy ‘Lolita’ that replaces
the book’s cruelty and comedy with manufactured lyricism and mopey romanticism.”
It seems that overall, the novel paints a grimmer picture of Humbert as a paedophile
and murderer than does the film, even though the ‘facts’ of the novel are ambiguous to such
an extent that an actual moral judgment by the reader, whom Humbert invites to participate in
his trial, is very hard to pass. The immorality that is being represented in the book is thus far
more severe even though on moral grounds, the novel is harder to condemn or censor due to
its ambiguity. In the film, on the other hand, the immorality that is being represented is not
what is most troubling; it is its lack of ambiguity and problematic interpretation that make it
subject to moral criticism. In order to bring about a proper comparison, the representation of
ambiguity in literature and film shall be discussed, taking into account the manner of
narration in both versions and the effects this has on the moral content of the works. It is then
crucial to elucidate some of the most important ambiguous elements that occur in the novel
and to compare these with the adaptation. Primarily, Humbert’s unreliability as a narrator will
be discussed. In addition, the handling of Humbert as a paedophile will be dealt with, in order
to look at the balance between love and lust in this narrative.
Ambiguity by Nabokov
In literature, ambiguity is most often present in the form of a word, sentence or passage that
has an unclear meaning or the possibility of having several meanings. The Glossary of
Literary Terms explains this well:
[T]he term [ambiguity] has been widely used in criticism to identify a
deliberate poetic device: the use of a single word or expression to signify two
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or more distinct references, or to express two or more diverse attitudes or
feelings. (Abrams 13)
It can be inferred that when ambiguity is encountered, it confronts the reader with multiple
possible meanings that demand reflection in order to decide which path to take further along
the literary work. Ambiguity can be encountered in several different forms. William Empson
distinguishes seven types, the sixth being particularly relevant when analysing Lolita: “In the
sixth type what is said is contradictory or irrelevant and the reader is forced to invent
interpretations. (…).” (vi). This type is compatible with Humbert’s unreliability as a narrator;
he often presents false or altered material, which he seems to use to convince the reader of
something – to justify himself – and to fashion his own character within the fiction in a
manner that he deems favourable. He therefore seems to create a fictional fantasy, relating
events in a way he might have liked them to have happened, and thereby reducing the severity
of the immorality that underlies his story. This can make fictional truth difficult to find.
Graham Vickers writes about this:
[I]t is not the book’s size but its elusive nature that defeats meaningful
summary; Lolita’s life story has a narrator with an agenda and his account is
correspondingly light on facts, heavy on textures, echoes, fantasies, fateful
coincidences, and self-serving, passionate lies. (6)
Nabokov’s Lolita is structured around an interesting combination of narrative techniques, that
together largely influence the reception of the novel by the reader. These techniques to a large
extent affect the manner of portrayal of Humbert, and therefore indirectly determine the
degree of immorality that is perceivable throughout the story. It should be noted that although
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Nabokov is the actual author of Lolita, the fictive foreword by John Ray Jr. gives the
impression that everything that has been written is by Humbert’s hand; that the text was to be
used as part of Humbert’s defence in court, and that he later decided to have it published as
well. Nomi Tamir-Ghez sheds light on this balance between Nabokov as author and Humbert
as narrator and supposed author: “[T]he same arguments that are used by Humbert to justify
himself, are often used (indirectly) by Nabokov to expose his narrator’s guilt.” (67) This she
explains further by stating that
he [Nabokov] ensures that Humbert’s arguments are not air-tight, and that
enough incriminating information leaks out. Nabokov does intend us to
identify with the protagonist to a certain degree, to accept him as a human
being, while at the same time strongly to condemn his deeds. (66)
She seems to say that ultimately, Humbert is at the mercy of Nabokov’s agenda: that although
it is Humbert’s story that is being told, Nabokov has ultimate authority. Thus when Humbert
is relating something overtly immoral, Nabokov may, via Humbert, alert the reader to remain
reserved. And when Humbert works hard to receive sympathy, Nabokov can drop a hint that
Humbert cannot be trusted or that his efforts to justify his actions must be considered
fruitless. This creates a layered narration, as it were, which can cause the text to be read as
structurally ambiguous; it is difficult to firmly establish what Humbert is exactly, or what he
may be taken to be. Especially since some of Nabokov’s clues may not easily be recognised
by readers, which makes them vulnerable, as it were, to Humbert’s agenda; that of persuading
the reader by justifying himself (Tamir-Ghez 77).
The unreliability of Lolita’s narrator plays a significant role in the creation of
ambiguity. In the novel, this has mostly to do with Humbert’s self-contradiction, his
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ascription of a troubling role to the reader and the unclear distinction between fictional truth
and fantasy. This particular manner of narration seems to obscure Humbert’s relation to moral
limits and the way in which he comes across to the reader; the combination of the two affects
the perceivable immorality, embodied by Humbert, that the story contains.
Unreliable Humbert Humbert
Nabokov’s Humbert appears to be clever, well-read, witty and artistic. But perhaps he does
not so much appear as such, but rather portrays himself thus. That is to say, even regarding
his own competence he contradicts himself, as he does with regard to events and other
characters as well. This makes it difficult to determine what is fictionally true, or whether
anything at all is fictionally true, and how to respond to this novel. An illustrative and
recurring example is one where Humbert writes about “[E]xhibit number two (…) a pocket
diary.” (Nabokov 43) This seems a clear indication that the reader is transported back to the
courtroom, which shapes the fictional context of the novel. Humbert states that although this
diary was destroyed some years earlier, he can recall its details as he wrote it down twice and
has a photographic memory (Nabokov 43). This establishes a sense of trustworthiness and
credibility, because it gives the impression that the entire account as it is given in Lolita might
be written down from accurate recollection of facts. After all, he has the ability to remember
things photographically and it seems oddly daring to think of Humbert as lying during his
own trial – probably while being under oath. However, only a few pages further he talks of a
poem he once wrote about Lolita that he threw away and “cannot recall (…) today.”
(Nabokov 47) His inability to remember things accurately seems to turn into a pattern from
the latter quote onwards; there are many more references to be found regarding his deficient
memory (e.g. Nabokov 67). Thus his recollection often does not appear to be photographic at
all. Especially since it is a poem that he cannot remember; this seems easier to remember than
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the content of an entire diary. In addition, he repeatedly calls himself a poet (e.g. Nabokov
57), which makes it plausible to assume that he would remember the poem as it was by his
own hand; and especially as it was about the girl he supposedly loves so dearly. However, he
later states rashly: “But I am no poet. I am only a very conscientious recorder.” (Nabokov 80)
This contradicts his earlier statement of being a poet, which gives the impression of instability
of mind or opinion, or of the inability to recollect what he wrote before – which his earlier
appeal to a photographic memory makes dubious. But also: if that were the case, the reader
would feel much freer to pass moral judgement, as no aesthetic interest would be of
significance. And yet he seems to know that this does come into play and uses it to his
advantage, as after this statement follow many more in which he falls back on his poetic
aspirations and motivations to explain why he did something. Thus he is not merely a
“conscientious recorder” (Nabokov 80), even though at certain points in the novel it might
seem easier for him to convince the reader that he is conscientiously recording.
In a sense, therefore, Humbert toys with the reader’s sympathies in such a way as to
obscure the distinction between fictional truth and fictional fantasy, for it is unclear which of
these two Humberts, the artist or the criminal, can be said to be real, or if he is neither or both.
The following passage might serve as another example of Humbert’s troubling writing: “And
now take down the following important remark: the artist in me has been given the upper
hand over the gentleman.” (Nabokov 79) He directly involves the reader by stating this.
Besides, he here makes the odd contrast between the artist in him, and the gentleman. This
raises the question whether his artistic self is ungentlemanly, even though many of his
attempts to justify certain actions or trains of thought are based solely on the fact that he is an
artist. Such an ambiguous remark can trouble the reader’s attempt at establishing fictional
truth.
His rhetoric, which encompasses his persuasiveness and the ambiguity surrounding his
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character, can make it difficult for the reader to remain free from sympathy or understanding.
Mathew Winston writes:
The book’s protagonist, narrator, and supposed author, Humbert Humbert,
continually forces us to maintain a double perspective by calling on us to pass
moral and legal judgment upon him as a man and aesthetic judgment upon him
as an artist. (…) [T]he murderer, madman and pedophile is balanced against
the artistic creator, stylist, lover of language and master of literary allusion.
(421)
The problem for the reader is that both the murderer and the artistic creator that Winston
describes work towards the same end; that of persuading the reader to agree with Humbert.
This alternating between two sets of style, or two voices, is one of the ways in which he tries
to convince the reader of his innocence or helplessness, and is aided by, for instance, flattery.
Humbert directs himself to the reader in several ways: “my learned reader” (Nabokov 52) and
“comrade” (Nabokov 188) for example, establish a sort of intimacy that may well be
strengthened by passionate exclamations such as “O, Reader, My Reader!” (Nabokov 230) or
“Reader! Bruder!” (Nabokov 298) This sentimentalism he seems to employ to create a
friendly relationship with the reader; to warm the reader’s heart towards him, as it were. This
is contrasted with phrases such as “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury (…)” (Nabokov 7),
which seem to require recollection of factual information about Humbert’s criminal actions
rather than of his wit or literary qualities. This attempt at establishing a relationship with the
reader built on trust – illusory trust – seems to be carried further by alternating between
giving himself sympathy-begging and ironic names: names like “stupid poor Humbert”
(Nabokov 25), “Humbert the Wounded Spider” (Nabokov 59) and “Humbert the Humble”
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(Nabokov 60) are contrasted with ones such as “Humbert the Terrible” (Nabokov 30) or
“Humbert the Hoarse.” (Nabokov 52) He does the same within passages: “In fact – said highand-dry- Humbert to floundering Humbert (…)” (Nabokov 260) The result may be
descriptions of immoral thoughts that come across as funny, ironic, romantic or artistic. It
seems to be one of Humbert’s designs to reduce or avoid feelings of injustice by either
attempting to justify his actions, to convince the reader of his good intentions, or to distract
the reader from the matter at hand. His literary and rhetorical abilities seem to serve him well
as tools for such trickery.
Humbert as a Paedophile
That Humbert is a paedophile and murderer is one of the few things that are certain within the
novel. In everyday life, this would be enough to break ties with the person in question or at
least remain very alert and suspicious. Within the life of Lolita, however, the matter is not that
simple. The first problem that seems to arise when tackling the idea of Humbert’s paedophilia
is that of his feelings for Lolita, as the question of love is hardly ever, if at all, of significance
when discussing paedophilia. It may be said that Humbert is very different from an “ordinary
paedophile” (Wood 189); a stereotypical creep that feels only sexual desire for children.
However, it is far from clear that Humbert is in fact that different and whether there is such a
thing as an ordinary paedophile to begin with (Wood 189). A small set of examples can
illustrate the difficulty of establishing Humbert’s paedophilia.
The novel starts with a reference to Annabel, the girl Humbert fell in love with at age
fourteen. Annabel died young of typhus and Humbert writes that her death was to become “a
permanent obstacle to any further romance throughout the cold years of my youth.” (Nabokov
12) It seems that, especially when his argument becomes slippery, he falls back on this
teenage love to convince the reader that his paedophilia is a natural consequence of his love
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for Annabel; that he could not possibly have avoided it. Thus he writes: “All I want to stress
is that my discovery of her [Lolita] was a fatal consequence of that ‘princedom by the sea’ in
my tortured past,” (Nabokov 42). To strengthen his case, it seems, he also elaborates on the
hardship he has had to endure as a paedophile: “Taboos strangulated me. Psychoanalysts
wooed me with pseudoliberations and pseudolibidoes. (…) At other times I would tell myself
that it was all a question of attitude, that there was really nothing wrong in being moved to
distraction by girl-children.” (Nabokov 18) The use of words and phrases such as “moved to
distraction” occur quite often in the novel and emphasise Humbert’s plea for sympathy. He
seems to choose such phrases to reduce the severity of their underlying meaning. This might
also be why he has invented a specific category of girls called “nymphets” (Nabokov 15),
aged between nine and fourteen, which he is drawn to. The terms he uses in his description of
these girls provide telling examples. He writes, for example, that “their true nature (…) is not
human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac) (…)” (Nabokov 15) and henceforth terms such a girl,
for instance, a “demon child.” (Nabokov 19) It can be inferred from such wording that he
considers these girls to be initiators or provocateurs rather than victims; they have a “fantastic
power” (Nabokov 16) of which they are unaware and by means of this power attract men
“twice or many times older than they” (Nabokov 15). These men he does not describe as
others would, namely as paedophiles, but as “certain bewitched travellers” (Nabokov 15), “we
who are in the know, we lone voyagers, we nympholepts” (Nabokov 16) and other such
names. Humbert almost comes across as ironic; he either does not take the matter as seriously
as he should, or he is aware of the seriousness of the situation but does not want to explicitly
tell the reader. Either way, he seems to obscure the gravity of the situation as it actually is.
After Charlotte has passed away, Humbert takes Lolita on a trip through America. At
this point, he goes mad at the thought of possessing her. The first night they spend in a hotel
together, Humbert does not manage to have intercourse with Lolita as the sleeping pill he
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gave her earlier did not have the desired effect. For his own piece of mind, it seems, he
resolutely decides: “Tomorrow I would stuff her with those earlier pills that had so
thoroughly numbed her mummy.” (Nabokov 146) The reader may well be shocked to read
this, yet Humbert remains stubborn: “I insist upon proving that I am not, and never was, and
never could have been, a brutal scoundrel. The gentle and dreamy regions through which I
crept were the patrimonies of poets – not crime’s prowling ground.” (Nabokov 149) Where he
at one point seems to lose hold of his convincing narrative by writing about his scheme to
drug Lolita, he soon tries to mend his mistake by calling to the reader’s attention his poetic
nature and his artistic motivations. Such going back and forth from shock to sympathy – or at
least shock and admiration– can trouble the reader’s characterisation of Humbert.
At this point Humbert has not acted upon his feelings, but half a page later he writes
that “by six fifteen we were technically lovers.” (Nabokov 150) He then makes a significant
turn: “I am going to tell you something very strange: it was she who seduced me.” (Nabokov
150). This argument he keeps bringing up in the novel, even adding later: “Sensitive
gentlewomen of the jury, I was not even her first lover.” (Nabokov 153) Naturally, this is
beside the point. Even if Lolita was in a way interested in Humbert, as she seems to have been
in Quilty, then it does not follow that she wanted to have a relationship with him, as it might
be just a young girl’s crush. But also, and more importantly: even if she did, he should never
have become involved in this way. It should be noted that all the excuses he brings up to
lessen the gravity of his actions are quite unlikely. After all, Lolita was at this point only
twelve years old. Travelling the country with her stepfather, completely torn away from all
her acquaintances and earning her weekly allowance through sexual favours, cannot in any
way resemble what she envisioned her life to be like at this stage. Humbert might actually be
giving this away when he writes his final words of part I: “You see, she had absolutely
nowhere else to go.” (Nabokov 159)
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However, in between these descriptions are inserted pieces of dialogue that do
strongly suggest Lolita is a seductress; she asks him to kiss her (Nabokov 127), she talks
about having been unfaithful to him at summer camp (Nabokov 126), is described as seducing
him the first night at the hotel (Nabokov 151) and in general talks in a rather mature way of
sexual matters: “I am absolutely filthy in thought, word and deed.” (Nabokov 129) These
excerpts are often found alongside descriptions of Humbert as “not daring really kiss her”
(Nabokov 127) and stating that “[r]estraint and reverence were still my motto (…)” (Nabokov
140) Although it may be stated thus in dialogue, the content of the words spoken strongly beg
the question whether this is how their conversation actually occurred. Humbert’s meticulous
planning prior to their trip and his cunning behaviour throughout may well suggest that in fact
the dialogue as it appears in his memoir is fabricated. This becomes clearer when looking at
passages that seem to indicate that Lolita was not at all enjoying herself: “And I catch myself
thinking today that our long journey (…) in retrospect, was no more to us than a collection of
dog-eared maps, ruined tour books, old tires, and her sobs in the night – every night, every
night – the moment I feigned sleep.” (Nabokov 199) The fact that he was aware of her
sadness but pretended not to be is shocking. What may well be more unsettling, however, is
the blunt confession that Lolita really was miserable, which suggests that she was a victim
after all.
Now, there are indications that love plays a role, although it may well be argued that
lust primarily influences Humbert’s behaviour. When he picks her up from Camp Q, he seems
to make the turn from love to lust that for a long time dominates their relationship:
[A]ll that widower Humbert had to do, wanted to do, or would do, was to give
this wan-looking though sun-colored little orphan aux yeux battus (…) a sound
education, a healthy and happy girlhood, a clean home, nice girl-friends of her
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age (…) But ‘in a wink’, as the Germans say, the angelic line of conduct was
erased, and I overtook my prey (…), and she was my Lolita again – in fact,
more of my Lolita than ever. (Nabokov 125)
The question of love is difficult to separate from lust, it seems. Especially since, when
discernable at all, it surfaces in passages such as the following: “Reader must understand that
in the possession and thraldom of a nymphet the enchanted traveller stands, as it were, beyond
happiness.” (Nabokov 188) But here Humbert may just have been glad to have found a means
of regular sexual release that met his standards; earlier in the novel he describes how relationships with women of his own age were never a success (Nabokov 17). Perhaps the most
sincere, or at least the most credible, descriptions of his love for Lolita appear after he has lost
her to Quilty and, years later, receives a letter from her. She is at this point Dolly Schiller,
married and pregnant, which initially enrages Humbert as he believes her husband to be the
one who took her away from him. He plans to kill him but quickly adds, to pacify the reader,
it seems: “I could not kill her, of course, as some have thought. You see, I loved her.”
(Nabokov 307) Near the end, the descriptions become more genuine: “[A]nd I looked and
looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I
had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else.” (Nabokov 316) Humbert
seems to enter a state of self-consciousness, confession, guilt, and regret. It changes the
content of what has been stated before and the way Humbert is perceived. For instance:
[I]n order to enjoy my phantasms in peace I firmly decided to ignore what I
could not help perceiving, the fact that I was to her not a boy friend, not a
glamour man, not a pal, not a person at all, but just two eyes and a foot of
engorged brawn (…) There was a day when (…) I happened to glimpse from
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the bathroom, through a chance combination of mirror aslant and door ajar, a
look on her face… that look I cannot exactly describe… an expression of
helplessness so perfect that it seemed to grate into one of rather comfortable
inanity just because this was the very limit of injustice and frustration (…)
(Nabokov 323)
He explains this further when stating that he “always preferred the mental hygiene of
noninterference. (…) I recall that on this and similar occasions, it was always my habit and
method to ignore Lolita’s states of mind while comforting my own base self.” (Nabokov 327)
Thus it is only in retrospect that he realises that perhaps his love was one-sided; and the
question of whether he really felt love throughout, only afterwards, or not at all, is still
difficult to answer, as his craftiness at fabricating fictions, fantasies and underlying truths
results in a melting pot of unfixed storylines.
Unreliability and Humbert by Lyne
As film makes use of images and sounds primarily and employs words to accompany these,
Lyne and other members of his film crew had to interpret words; to decide which image to
show to match with a certain passage, and which words to use to accompany a particular
image. This also means that in ambiguous passages, Lyne had to choose what he believed to
be fictionally true or what fitted into his idea of the adaptation. The adaptation that is shown
is therefore an interpretation of Lyne and his film crew, and as Lolita is anything but
straightforwardly told, he has had to rigidly draw lines between fictional truth and fictional
fantasy. Working within the film medium, Lyne also had to use different means to represent
ambiguity; arguably in a less successful, or at least less obscuring and troubling manner. This
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implies that the representation of Humbert differs significantly from that of the novel, which
influences the general perception of the story.
Lyne’s Unreliable Narrator
In film, ambiguity or unreliability can, for example, be established by means of stating one
thing in words while having actors behave in a way that suggests that they are feeling
otherwise about something, by using music of a contradictory nature or through details in the
cinematic image that give clues as to what might actually be the case. Per Krogh Hansen
provides insightful information regarding unreliable narration in film:
This basic feature of unreliable narrators (…) is generally considered difficult
to establish in filmic narration. Voice-over narration by a character is one
solution to the problem; another the use of point of view-shots (…); a third the
use of extradiegetic sound effects and music to illustrate the mental state of the
focalizer; and a fourth – (…) – the staging of the scenes in agreement with not
only the focalizer’s point of view, but also with her/his reception and
understanding or – as it would be in the case of unreliability – misreception
and misunderstanding.
Lyne seems to have employed all the techniques outlined above: he lets Humbert do the
voice-over narration, shows everything from Humbert’s point of view, accompanies the film
by dramatic music and in general visualises the story of a man with flawed reasoning and
understanding. However, it might not be enough to establish ambiguity in a manner like that
of the novel. This is not to say that it is a requisite of an adaptation to resemble the original
work, but in this case it does seem necessary to incorporate at least a similar degree of
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ambiguity to create a likewise effect on the public and portray Humbert in an appropriate
manner.
Michael da Silva has written an interesting article about what he has termed the
subjective aesthetic of Lyne’s Lolita and which incorporates exactly what Hansen designates
as “subjective camerawork”. da Silva states:
Lyne (…) sticks primarily to the use of limited subjective narrative in the
visual components of the film. (…) This helps to create a more sympathetic
Humbert, but the spectator is warned not to trust his or her sympathies.
Although he seems right in crediting Lyne for successfully presenting an unreliable narrator
by means of a subjective perspective, his final remark should be examined. Humbert indeed
comes across as more sympathetic than in Nabokov’s novel, primarily due to this limited
perspective. But it might also have to do with the interpretation that Lyne has opted for, and it
should in addition be questioned whether the spectator is actually warned not to trust arising
sympathies. To start with the latter matter; da Silva tries to explain this by giving examples of
Humbert’s untruthfullness:
[E]ven Humbert’s voice-over is made suspect by its lack of coherence with the
mise en scène. The voice-over is based on Humbert’s journal, but, when
Charlotte reads from it, she finds herself described as “the fat cow”. In Lyne’s
adaptation, however, Charlotte is anything but. Viewers watching the film in
1997 would be well aware of Griffith’s star persona as a Hollywood beauty.
(…) Lyne does nothing to hide her beauty.
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Humbert’s voice-over seems indeed to lack coherence, especially in dramatic scenes when his
voice is quite static and might appear unemotional. But is it inconsistent with the mise-enscène? The film is shot in a hazy romantic filter, which suits the fanciful dressing of the
characters. The music composed by Ennio Morricone, also, adds a romantic touch. One of the
few ways in which the voice-over lacks coherence is perhaps its contradictory nature when
compared to Dominique Swain’s performance as Lolita. Lyne’s Lolita, unlike Nabokov’s, is a
character in her own right. This can be seen when during the film she is screaming accusatory
remarks at Humbert during fights, and clearly expressing her own emotions; not ones that
Humbert has attributed to her as fitting to the scene. Besides, Lyne seems to have added a
scene based on the final sections on the novel, which adds to Humbert’s unreliability.
Nabokov’s Humbert writes that, in retrospect, he realises that his relationship with Lolita has
harmed her significantly (324). In the film, there is quite an elaborate scene (Lyne 1:07:571:08:50) in which Lolita is dressed in pyjamas and sitting on her bed while listening to the
hotel radio. Although it is bright outside, she has darkened the room by closing the curtains
almost completely. After listening to the music for a moment, she sees Humbert standing by
the open door. It may be inferred that he is looking in to see if she is willing to let him lie in
bed with her. She looks at him and then resolutely picks up two pillows off the bed and puts
them over her ears and eyes. Humbert then closes the door. Significantly, the closed door
reveals on the inside to have a sign attached to it; a white sticker with indiscernible words on
it, apart from the word on top: ‘notice’. The image of this sign dissolves quite slowly, while in
the background the image of Lolita lying in bed and crying is surfacing. This image fades
after several seconds, but the music that Lolita is listening to plays on while the screen turns
black for eight whole seconds. Lyne seems to call attention to Lolita’s suffering; incredible
sadness that literally takes place behind closed doors but that spectators are supposed to
notice. The eight seconds of darkness seem to be inserted to let this sink in, and it can be
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imagined that in the cinema this has quite a shocking effect; all the spectator can do is think
about the image that was last shown and that white sign that stands out in the darkness of
Lolita’s room. This is one of the few scenes that reveals something that is in front of
Humbert’s eyes, and therefore integral to his subjective perspective, and that yet does not
conform to what he has been showing and telling; a hint from Lyne perhaps. A problem arises
here, however: Humbert’s paedophilia, and with it Lolita’s role as a victim or seductress,
within Lyne’s interpretation, makes it difficult to determine to what extent Lolita’s sadness
must be taken to be a sign of despair; of wanting to escape.
Humbert’s Paedophilia in the Film
An illustrative way of comparing the novel and the film in degrees of paedophilia is to
compare their handling of the concept of nymphets, as Lyne’s decision to opt for love rather
than lust seems to surface very clearly there. He has dedicated a little over a minute to the
explanation of this notion. Humbert is seen preparing his diary for writing, and softly
caressing a little ribbon that the spectator has seen earlier in the film as belonging to Annabel
(Lyne 11:15-11:30). This gives the impression that Humbert’s attraction to children really is a
sort of aftermath of his love for Annabel, which fits with Humbert’s earlier account of her
death as an event that “froze something in me” (Lyne 04:54-04:56). Humbert then picks up
his pen and writes down words that the spectator is told by means of voice-over: “A normal
man given a group photograph of school girls will not necessarily choose the nymphet among
them. You have to be an artist, a madman, full of shame and melancholy and despair, in order
to recognise the little deadly demon among the others. She stands, unrecognised by them,
unconscious herself of her fantastic power.” (Lyne 11:31-12:27) Significantly, like in the
novel, the emphasis is on the power of the child, rather than that of the adult. However, where
the adult in Lyne is a man “full of shame, melancholy and despair”, Nabokov’s paedophile is
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“a creature of infinite melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in [his] loins and a supervoluptuous flame permanently aglow in [his] subtle spine (…)” (16) Lyne’s description
shows the removal of the sexual aspect of nymphets and paedophiles where Nabokov has not
scrupled to add this sensual layer of meaning. The focus on love rather than lust is not bound
to this particular scene, but can be discerned throughout the entire film. The very beginning of
both the film and novel are revealing examples as well. The first words of Nabokov’s Lolita
are as follows:
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. (…) Lo. Lee. Ta. She
was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was
Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line.
But in my arms she was always Lolita. (7)
The emphasis in this passage seems to be on the sexual appeal that Lolita has for Humbert,
and the variety of names that she is allotted seems to indicate how different she is to him as
opposed to in relation to others. Lyne, on the other hand, starts his film with the exact same
words, but in reversed order; by means of voice-over the spectators are being informed about
Lolita’s variety of nicknames. This passage is then followed instead of preceded by the words
“[l]ight of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul.” (Lyne 02:08-02:38) It could be argued
that by reversing the order of the first words, Lyne at the very beginning of the film states
which interpretation he has chosen to adapt to the screen. This initial scene (Lyne 00:0002:39) is visualised as follows: a car is driving through a misty but picturesque open
landscape while melancholy music with rather ominous-sounding notes of piano is playing.
The music therefore does in a sense establish a balance between desperate love and
impending doom. Humbert’s car is alternating between different sides of the road. In the
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novel, he does this when reasoning that “since I had disregarded all laws of humanity, I might
as well disregard the rules of traffic,” (Nabokov 349) but in the film there is no mention of
this so it should rather be considered a visualisation of Humbert’s twofold character; seeming
at one point loving, at another cunning. However, as Humbert is not portrayed as a vicious
man during the film, even in violent scenes, this might be difficult for spectators to pick up.
Although there are scenes that indicate Lolita’s hardship, the story in general
resembles that of a love affair. This seems to be closely related to the general impression that
Humbert’s power over Lolita is not extraordinary, and becomes very clear in one of the
sexually tinted scenes of the film; that in which Lolita and Humbert spend their first night in a
hotel together (Lyne 53:16-55:28). It begins with Humbert slowly waking up and looking at
Lolita while she sleeps. When he realises that she is waking up as well, he closes his eyes and
feigns sleep. Lolita starts blowing air into his face to wake him up, and so Humbert feigns
waking up. Lolita smiles and then kisses him in her childlike fashion, to which Humbert
replies with a surprised smile. Romantic music is playing and the light of the rising sun is
shining on their faces and the white bed sheets, creating an almost heavenly atmosphere.
Lolita then whispers into Humbert’s ear that she played a ‘game’, codeword for sexual
intercourse, with Charlie at summer camp, and asks him if he never tried it when he was a
child. His reply, “never”, with a sad look in his eyes, seems a recollection of his unconsummated love with Annabel. Lolita’s response, “I guess I’m gonna have to show you
everything,” and her following seductive looks and workings on his pyjama pants, clearly
seem to make this relationship her initiative. Even more so as she then takes out her braces
and smiles sweetly, not in any way signifying a sense of fear or repulsion. In addition,
although Nabokov’s Humbert has drugged Lolita before the night falls, in Lyne there is no
indication that he is up to something similar. Thus Humbert does not come across as
particularly devious; he rather looks hopelessly in love. Naturally, this scene does not stand
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on its own. Taking into account their entire stay in the Enchanted Hunters Hotel gives some
clues as to the fact that perhaps this is not how it went. For example, when they have just been
shown to their room, Lolita asks Humbert, surprised and shocked, if they really are to sleep in
one room with a double bed (Lyne 43:30-43:35). Humbert tells her that he has asked the staff
to send up a cot, which he is happy to use (Lyne 43:36-43:42). His explanation of why he has
chosen this arrangement, however, might give something away: “For all practical purposes, I
am your father, and I’m responsible for your welfare. Now, we’re not rich. So when we
travel, we-we-we’re sure to be… I mean, we’ll be thrown together. Sometimes. Two people
sharing the same hotel room are bound to enter into a… how can I put it? Into a kind of…”
(Lyne 44:02-44:25) To which Lolita plainly says: “The word is incest.” (Lyne 44:25-44:27)
This reveals her knowledge as to what might be going on and Humbert’s possible agenda.
However, the scene of their first night makes it difficult to see Lolita as a victim as she seems
so overtly portrayed as an actor.
Humbert’s cunning seems an important characteristic which shapes the interpretation
of him and the story, and which also influences the spectator’s view on Lolita and her role in
relation to him. Nabokov’s Humbert employs two kinds of cunning; that towards other
characters and that towards the reader. He constantly asks his readers to participate and
manipulates them along the way. However, even though Lyne’s Humbert is retelling a story
that implies a listener, it does not seem clear that the spectator is being addressed directly.
There are several mentions of members of a jury (e.g. Lyne 47:10) but the spectator may not
identify with this manner of address. An exception may be when Lolita finds out that her
mother is dead. She comes into Humbert’s room and gets into bed with him, obviously in
need of comfort. Humbert takes her into his arms and softly strokes her hair. His voice-over
then says: “We made up very gently that night. You see, she had nowhere else to go.” (Lyne
58:40-59:59) He directly speaks to the spectators, and in a manner that could be considered
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manipulative, depending on whether the interpretation of his words is in Humbert’s favour or
against it. Humbert’s cunning towards other characters is perhaps a clearer indication of the
fact that he is capable of creating schemes, although there are few scenes that incorporate a
striking deviousness. An example may be Humbert’s quest for the right sleeping pills for
Charlotte, but he describes this as a means to not be obliged to be physically involved with
her: “Throughout July, I’d been offering Charlotte various sleeping tablets, (…) But that was
not enough to guarantee me an undisturbed night.” (Lyne 28:27- 29:30) Another example
could be that of a cunning train of thought Humbert reveals: ”I long for some terrific disaster.
Earthquake. Spectacular explosion. Her mother instantly eliminated. Along with everybody
else for miles around. Lolita in my arms.” (Lyne 15:10-15:35)
However, on the whole he does not seem explicitly abusive, manipulative or sly.
There are some violent scenes from which this could be inferred, but in general Irons
represents more of a hopeless romantic than an evil paedophile. Perhaps it can only be
discerned once the spectator is aware of Humbert’s greater plan: that of possessing Lolita.
And even this plan comes across less harshly than in the novel. It seems that spectators who
are unfamiliar with the novel or its ambiguity may be especially susceptible to ‘believing’
Lyne as they have no material to compare the film with in terms of ambiguous morality. This
could be problematic, for what the film does with the audience could be considered troubling.
Michael Wood explains this as follows: “[T]he less we have of Humbert’s language, the more
we have of his angle: there’s only the storyline, and the story is his. Lyne’s movie, in
particular, is Humbert’s movie.” (184) da Silva agrees with Wood up to a point, but through
the filter of the subjective aesthetic comes to a slightly different conclusion:
Ultimately, Lyne’s Lolita does invite the viewer to empathize with a sexual
predator. Its cinematography, soundtrack and narrative structure work together
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to create a subjective æsthetic with Humbert at its centre. Humbert’s
psychological state and motivations are established by way of this subjective
æsthetic. Empathy, however, does not necessitate celebration.
He fairly remarks that although the spectator may sympathise with Humbert, there is no need
to condone his actions. However, it seems that the empathy that the reader of Lolita is faced
with is another one than that of the film’s spectator. This is because the role of each is
different; where Lyne’s Humbert receives sympathy through the narration of a dramatic and
romantic story, Nabokov’s Humbert labours to evoke sympathy but is more likely to receive
admiration than an emphatic reaction. This is because the crimes he commits and his way of
thinking are explored very deeply, and because many things remain unclear so as to
complicate the elicitation of emphatic feelings.
Conclusion
Comparing literature and film is difficult, especially when the novel that is subject to analysis
is considered of high value on linguistic grounds alone. Lolita as a narrative can be considered
equally captivating by both Nabokov and Lyne, but it cannot be denied that there are
differences; and that these differences rest for a large part on the dissimilar manners of the
representation of ambiguity in film and literature as individual media. For a comprehensive
understanding of Lolita, it seems vital that Humbert Humbert’s roles as a narrator, author,
artist and paedophile are understood properly, as it is central to the story and influences the
conception of the entire narrative as it is told through his eyes. Where the novel is grimmer,
scarier and more shocking, it is also funnier and more uncomfortable to experience. The film
is, despite its grim elements and its focus on a subjective narrative, not as dark as the novel.
And perhaps it should not be so, as the film is an interesting adaptation in its own right.
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However, Lolita seems to come with moral consequences, and adapting an interpretation of
the story that elucidates the romantic, faulty reasoning of a paedophile has thus not merely an
aesthetic effect, but also a moral one. The notion of ambiguous morality might be very
relevant when trying to uncover the heart of Lolita.
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