Abstract
My Brilliant Friend (MBF) is a television adaptation of Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan novels. This study focuses on the first season of the series, which transposes L’amica geniale, the first of four novels. Our goal is to go beyond traditional comparisons between source texts and adaptations to explore the discourse on the production and development of MBF. We collected and analyzed newspaper and magazine articles, YouTube interviews, and studies that focus on the adaptation of L’amica geniale. Drawing on this corpus, we use discourse analysis to interrogate the two concepts that inform discussions on the artistic and cultural value of this adaptation: faithfulness and authenticity. Far from being unproblematic, these interrelated concepts are ambiguous and elusive because they are entangled with their semantic opposites. The quest for faithfulness clashes with the transformations that occur when adjusting a source text to the affordances of another medium. Similarly, the authentic and the inauthentic are frequently intermingled. Viewers might believe that they are experiencing the ‘real’ until they discern that the real was, in fact, staged.
Introduction
The focus of this study is the 2018 TV series My Brilliant Friend (hereafter referred to as MBF), an adaptation of L’amica geniale, the first volume of the Neapolitan series by Elena Ferrante. This novel was adapted into the first season of MBF, a co-production between Rai (Radiotelevisione Italiana, the national public broadcasting company of Italy) and HBO. While HBO co-produced other shows set in Italy, such as The Young Pope (2016), what makes MBF unique is that the series was filmed in Italian rather than English. Even if MBF was initially conceived as a show that Fandango, an Italian entertainment company, would produce for Rai alone, the early involvement of US-based HBO and international distributor Fremantle ensured that the show would gain an international market.
MBF tells the story of two girls born and raised in the city of Naples, Italy. The first season begins in the 1950s, after the end of the Second World War. The director of the first two seasons is Saverio Constanzo. Costanzo was offered the opportunity to direct MBF on the recommendation of Ferrante (Emre, 2018). Dunleavy (2020: 339) reports that the first season was sold to a total of 150 countries by April 2019. According to Middleton (2020), this list includes China, where three media platforms have acquired the series.
Traditionally, studies of adaptations contain extended comparisons between novels and films or TV series. Criticizing this approach, Murray (2012) argues that adaptation is a process that involves several interrelated production aspects. It is important to go beyond the typical comparison of books and films to investigate how the adaptation came to be made and why (Murray, 2012: 6). Analyzing the discourse surrounding the development of the series and the strategies employed to adapt the original material helps to understand how adaptations are conceived today, how they try to cater to the taste of audiences, how they are marketed, and why. A focus on production is particularly important when analyzing a TV series like MBF, a complex case of adaptation that puts a premium on faithfulness and authenticity while pursuing global viewership and international markets. The intricate relationship between the adapter/director, Costanzo, and the author of the Neapolitan novels, Ferrante, is at the core of a system of mediations and negotiations that became necessary to remediate Ferrante's story.
To study the discourse on the production and development of MBF, we collected newspaper and magazine articles, YouTube interviews, and studies that focus on the adaptation of Ferrante's novel. Specifically, we focused on sources that covered reflections on the strategies employed by the creators of the series. These sources, published between 2018 and 2023, were collected from both Italian- and English-language media. Drawing on this corpus, we use discourse analysis to interrogate the two concepts that inform discussions and debates on the artistic and cultural value of this adaptation: faithfulness and authenticity. We argue that these interrelated concepts are elusive and slippery because they are entangled with their semantic opposites. In film adaptation, the quest for faithfulness clashes with the transformations that occur when adjusting a source text to the requirements and possibilities of another medium. This means that fidelity and infidelity will always coexist. Similarly, the authentic and the inauthentic are frequently intermingled. Just like tourists, many viewers watch shows to quench their desire for authentic experiences. However, as MacCannell (1973) argues, it is very difficult to be certain that an experience is authentic. Tourists and viewers might believe that they are experiencing the ‘real’ until they discern that the real was, in fact, staged; what they saw was a representation, what they experienced was only partially authentic.
While there is no dearth of studies on MBF, Dunleavy (2020) is among the few scholars who has explored production aspects of the series; specifically, its development as a cross-platform co-production. Reflecting on adaptation strategies for the series, Gambaro (2021) argues that the adaptation of Ferrante's novel was constrained by the success of the novels, which imposed respect for the source text and original authorship. Costanzo had to preserve features that made the novel an international bestseller. Other scholars have focused on specific aspects of the production of the series such as casting (Renga, 2020), subtitling (Cordisco and De Meo, 2022), and the reception to MBF (Bisoni and Farinacci, 2020). Sarnelli (2020) delves into important aspects of Ferrante's poetics.
The next section of this article will explore the discourse of faithfulness in the development of MBF, with a special focus on the relationship between the adapter (Costanzo) and the author (Ferrante) of MBF. The third section will offer reflections on the quest for authenticity in the development of MBF, with reference to strategies for casting, the construction of the sets, and the selection of the language for the series. The fourth section will offer concluding remarks on the adaptation of MBF.
MBF and the discourse of faithfulness
Hutcheon (2013: 7) defines adaptations as “announced and extensive transpositions of a particular work or works.” The two key words here are “announced,” which signals intentionality, and “extensive,” which establishes a difference between adaptation and other forms of remediation, including remixing and musical sampling. Adaptation involves both re-creation and re-interpretation. An adaptor can act as a faithful and deferential salvager or an appropriator of an original source text (Hutcheon, 2013: 8).
The controversial idea of faithfulness has been widely discussed in adaptation theory. Theorists lament that adaptations are always subjected to fidelity criticism due to deep-rooted assumptions that these works should be evaluated on the basis of how faithful they are to the sources they adapt. In fact, as Leitch explains, adaptation scholars’ attacks on fidelity as a criterion to establish the value of a given adaptation are evidence of a divide between scholars and the public discourse on adaptation (Leitch, 2017: 7). Dismissed by scholars, discussions on faithfulness regularly appear in professional and non-professional film reviews, and in viewers’ comments as well (Elliott, 2020; Leitch, 2017). The development of social media and the rapid growth of online fan communities have led to a surge in conversations on the quality of adaptations in relation to their sources, especially when these sources are books or print-based comics. Adaptation scholars (Murray, 2012; Straumann, 2015) frequently report on how print sources are discursively constructed as primary and authoritative in a move that establishes a hierarchical distinction between original and copy. Whereas faithfulness to the original text and deference to the author are frequently celebrated, creative reinterpretations trigger accusations of betrayal, deformation, and violation of the beloved source material (Straumann, 2015). A possible interpretation for the importance attributed to deferential fidelity is that since the Romantic age, artworks have been evaluated based on notions of originality and genius; notions that were also linked to questions of authorship, authority, and prestige. As Elliott (2020) explains, adaptation has been frequently castigated for failing Romantic originality. In general, the idea of the Author with a capital A, the independent genius, the creator and owner of an original story, is a product of Romantic philosophy that has maintained its influence to this day.
Considering that Romantic views on authorship and originality continue to inform adaptation discourse, instead of dismissing the notion of faithfulness, scholars and critics can problematize and interrogate this notion. There is no doubt that the question of faithfulness remains relevant in discussions around adaptation, especially when the authors of the original text have achieved celebrity status and a cult following. However, attributions of faithfulness or unfaithfulness cannot become unproblematic evaluative touchstones. A weakness in the notion of fidelity is the idea that works of art contain an essence, a core of meaning that can be transferred in an adaptation. From a Bakhtinian perspective, it can be argued that the meaning of a text is generated through its interactions, or dialogue, with other texts. Cutchins (2017: 80) explains that, for adaptation studies, “this theory suggests that what is being adapted in any particular case cannot be the text alone, nor the essence of the text, but rather a particular understanding of the text.” This convincing claim shows how adapters can be faithful in different ways, depending on their artistic goals and vision. Faithfulness cannot be reduced to the notion of formal equivalence, to borrow a term used in translation theory (Nida, 1964). In the case of book-to-film adaptations, even the most faithful adapters will have to settle for some form of dynamic equivalence in which only some aspects of the original work will be rendered with literal accuracy. Other aspects will have to be reinterpreted and transposed with creativity based on the artistic vision of the director and the affordances of the new medium.
Adapter and author: Costanzo and Ferrante
A starting point in the exploration of the discourse of faithfulness is the analysis of the collaboration between authors and adapters. In the case of MBF, the primary relationship to investigate is that between Costanzo, the director, and Elena Ferrante, also credited as one of the four screenwriters of the series. Adaptation theorists (Hutcheon, 2013; Murray, 2012) suggest that directors should not worry too much about establishing a collaboration with authors, even if it is understandable that adapters might be open to receiving feedback on their interpretations.
Using the lenses of adaptation theory, the collaborative exchanges between Ferrante and Costanzo appear to be more intense than what would be expected. Ferrante made her presence noticeable at different stages of the development of the series, and Costanzo revealed that he welcomed her advice. According to Jennifer Schuur, the only American executive producer on MBF, it was Ferrante who asked that the adaptation be made in Italian even after the involvement of HBO (Sarner, 2018). When Horowitz (2017) asked about her involvement with the creation and development of the series, Ferrante replied: For now, my contribution to the set design is limited to a few notes on whether they look right. As far as the collaboration on the script, I don’t write, I don’t have the technical skills to do it, but I am reading the texts and send detailed notes. I still don’t know if they will take them into account. It is very likely that my notes will be used later on, in the writing of the final draft.
This answer suggests that Ferrante, a member of the screenwriting team, tried to reconcile her desire to be involved in the development of MBF with her lack of knowledge in the grammar of film and lack of experience with the demands of screenwriting. When Horowitz (2017) asked how faithful she wanted Costanzo to be, Ferrante explained: “As far as faithfulness to the book, I expect a faithfulness compatible with the needs of visual storytelling, which uses different means than writing to obtain the same effects.” Ferrante did expect faithfulness from Costanzo, but a reasonable faithfulness that would take into consideration the affordances and constraints of a different medium. And yet, this expectation of faithfulness does not seem to apply to Maggie Gyllenhaal's adaptation of another of her novels entitled The Lost Daughter (published in 2006; film released in 2021). In one of her weekly columns for The Guardian, Ferrante (2018) explains how her approach is different when the adapter is a woman: It's important for me – for her, for all women – that her work be hers and turn out well. I would never say to a woman director, “This is my book, this is my perspective. If you want to make a film, you have to stick to it.” I wouldn’t say anything, even if she systematically betrayed my text, even if she wanted to use it simply as a launchpad for her own creative impulse.
Ferrante appears willing to support Gyllenhaal's artistic freedom in the reinterpretation of The Lost Daughter. This is because, as she explains, women have to be bold and brave in emphasizing the force of their works so as to create “an artistic genealogy” of their own that can stand up to the male tradition. It is a different story with male directors: There is nothing wrong with a man wanting to make a film from my books: in fact, it is a positive sign. But in that case, I would tend not to be acquiescent. Even if he had a strongly defined vision of his own, I would ask him to respect my view, to adhere to my world, to enter the cage of my story without trying to drag it into his. It will do him more good, perhaps, than me. (Ferrante, 2018)
The verb “adhere” appears to be even stronger than the alternative expression “remain faithful.” Adhering conveys a higher degree of faithfulness and respect for the source. There seems to be a contradiction between the idea of respecting an adapter's “strongly defined vision” and then asking the same adapter to “adhere” to a different “world” and a different way of seeing. It is also interesting that Ferrante would see her story as a cage that allows little creative movement. This view appears antithetical to the idea that the themes and meaning of a novel are malleable and open to interpretation. A possible reading of these words is that Ferrante is re-asserting her authorship to make sure a man will not neutralize the power of her story by letting her critique of oppressive social structures fade away in the background of a sleek and polished film or TV show.
In Costanzo's words, Ferrante's contribution in the development of MBF was “enormous” (TalkMagazine, 2019). Similarly, in an interview given to Merve Emre (2018), Costanzo reveals that at times Ferrante “was so strong.” In the same New York Times Magazine article, Emre describes Costanzo as a “haunted man” who talks about Ferrante with a deference that directors rarely exercise toward writers whose work they adapt. An example of the dynamics between adapter and author is the incident related to the elimination of the banquet scene for Lila's wedding. Costanzo had cut this eventful scene because he was over budget and running behind schedule. Emre reports that it was Ferrante who asked him to film the banquet scene because it was central to her vision. The scene became the climax of the first season of the show.
On the other hand, in an interview published on The Playlist (Laffly, 2020), Costanzo describes the writing process for the show in these terms: We basically [would] write the show, the series, the season. And then we would send the script to her and she made notes. She sometimes would say something, reworking dialogues. But what I found from the very beginning, [she was] very open to every change that we proposed. You know, there are some writers who are very conservative with a book. But she was really open from the beginning.
Ferrante appears to be at once open and closed. Asking for faithfulness but accepting unfaithfulness. Her book is at once a cage and a springboard for new interpretations. The relationship between Ferrante and Costanzo is ambiguous and elusive because the notion of faithfulness is ambiguous and elusive. Far from being unproblematic, faithfulness to an original source needs to be constantly negotiated through constant readjustments and recalibrations. Faithfulness is an aspiration that remains forever deferred, an elusive target that keeps moving.
Reverence for print culture and authorship
Albeit in part, Costanzo's desire for faithfulness may have been informed by the exigence to meet readers’ expectations. Ferrante has garnered an international fan base whose expectations will always have an impact on the early reception of adaptations of her works. It is strategically important for producers and showrunners to construct early-adopter audiences for a new series or film amongst existing readerships. Gamerman (2018) reports that by the time the first season of MBF was about to air (November 2018), the Neapolitan novels had sold more than 10 million copies, a third in the English language. “Ferrante fever,” as readers have called their passionate reception of each Neapolitan novel, is a force to reckon with, a force to be harnessed. A celebrity author whose work is being adapted can garner the minimum number of viewers to make the adaptation commercially viable.
Arguably, Ferrante's anonymity contributed to create a “brand-name identity” (Murray, 2012) that solidified her fan base following. Not appearing at festivals, book fairs, author tours, in-store signings, or television chat shows might have reduced Ferrante's promotional capital. However, by concealing her identity and refraining from public appearances, Ferrante has kept the public intrigued. In a way, everyone can create their own mental image of this author that fits within their expectations and, perhaps, desires. Ferrante's authorial brand name has certainly thrived, even if the author has chosen to remain anonymous. Ferrante's fan base must have been pleased by Costanzo's acknowledgement and respect for them. Early positive reviews from avid readers of Ferrante's novels were a great endorsement for the adaptation project.
Once again, production and commercial/marketing needs seem to be at odds with key tenets of adaptation theory. According to Elliott (2020: 129), adaptation processes mark the “end to author intent as the chief determinant of meaning, shifting the authority of interpretation to readers.” The ‘death’ of the author (Barthes, 2002 [1967]), or the end of authors’ control over their work, means that readers and viewers are entrusted with the task of interpreting an adaptation. Costanzo's reliance upon Ferrante's wishes to ensure the adaptation would be faithful to the novel contradicts the idea of a demise of the author. In the case of MBF, Ferrante remained an important actor in the development of the adaptation, influencing decisions and interpretations. This turn of events shows how literary authorship remains primary even in the context of producing a big-budget TV series for international distribution. The sacredness of the book cannot be violated. Metonymically, the authority of Ferrante's work is represented by the emphasis on a book, Little Women, which Lila and Lenù read avidly in the second episode of the first season. This book carries symbolic value in that it represents the authority of literature as an institution. As Robert Stam (2000) argues, literature is perceived to be superior to any adaptation because of its seniority as an art form. The symbolic power of the book Little Women within the semiotic system of the TV series foregrounds the seniority of Ferrante's novel, the authority of the original text, and the power of its author.
Further evidence of the centrality of the author's vision in the adaptation of MBF can be found in an interview filmed at the Rotterdam International Film Festival (2019). Discussing the training and performances of the young actors who play Lila and Lenù, Costanzo argues that “the actors are good, but they are wearing shoes that Elena Ferrante built for them; comfortable and reliable shoes.” (Translated from Italian into English by Verzella) This statement signals a deferential attitude towards the author; an approach that is at odds with views of the author/adapter relationship formulated in adaptation theory. According to Wollen, an adapter should not “subordinate himself to another author; his source is only a pretext” (quoted in Hutcheon, 2013: 82). This view appears to be shared by most adaptation scholars.
On the other hand, in the current media ecology, authors are creative and commercial anchorpersons for content franchises based upon their work (Murray, 2012: 26). One of their roles is to reassure readers of an adaptation's quality and fidelity to the source. Authors’ approval and creative blessing are important for marketing, especially for big-budget films and TV adaptations. This explains why the Romantic cult of the celebrity literary author has been frequently exploited for commercial purposes. While adaptations might be seen as attempts to snatch stories from authors to emphasize their universality and plasticity, the adaptation industry has reintroduced a Romantic sanctification of authorship that responds to marketing and commercial needs. Despite (or perhaps because of) the mystery around Ferrante's identity, the Italian writer has become a celebrity whose authorial brand name works to transfer promotional capital to adaptations based on her books (Murray, 2012), provided that these adaptations are perceived to be ‘faithful’ and deferential to their sources.
Voiceover narration
One of the most controversial decisions of this adaptation concerns the narration of the story. Most film and adaptation theorists see voiceover narration as a bit outdated and didactic in that it borrows from textual forms of storytelling rather than relying on forms that are more cinematic (Murray, 2012). Hutcheon (2013) mentions McKee's Story (1997), an influential guide for screenwriters, and Seger's The Art of Adaptation (1992) as two authoritative books that condemn the use of literary devices like the voiceover or the deus ex machina ending. These devices are disruptive because they rely on telling rather than showing. Nevertheless, Costanzo decided to preserve the textual device of Lenù's first-person narration through the use of the voiceover technique.
Answering a question on his use of the voiceover, Costanzo stated that he saw it as a central component of the narration. Instead of following “ideologies,” he relied on the voiceover to help viewers understand the set-up of the story, initially, and then to shed light on obscure aspects of the story. The voiceover became a vehicle of intimacy: it helped to reveal certain hidden aspects of the personality of the characters. From this perspective, the voiceover should be seen not as a concession to the public, but rather as an important component of the story that had to be preserved (Fred Film Radio, 2018). Costanzo's use of the word “ideologies” in this interview appears to refer to adaptation theory's stigmatization of this technique.
In her study of the adaptation of MBF, Gambaro (2021) observes that the voiceover sounds appealing both to Ferrante's established readership, who are likely to feel reassured to encounter a familiar narrative device in the adaptation, and to new viewers, who may need the explanations and guidance offered by a reliable narrator. This technique also allows a salvaging and reproduction of segments of the book that had to be cut in the adaptation, thus enhancing the faithfulness of the series to its authoritative source. Viewing the story through the eyes of Lenù further enhances the faithfulness of the adaptation. On a pragmatic level, this decision was viewer-oriented because it helped international audiences to better contextualize, understand, and interpret events. However, both translation and adaptation theorists argue that viewers should be challenged to autonomously make sense of stories and themes. Viewers may and should have diverse interpretations of events and behaviors without the authors/directors trying to impose rigid interpretations. This idea goes back to a key point in adaptation theory: it is impossible to extract a core meaning, stable and fixed, from a literary work or adaptation (Cutchins, 2017). Viewers should not be asked to retrieve and appreciate this core. Informed by other intertexts—books, films, or other TV series that influence one another—their interpretations will create layers of meaning that will enrich the value of the series. This system of intertextual dialogue helps create more intertextual links that enrich the original work. In the end, this means creating more value for both the adaptation and the adapted material.
MBF and the discourse of authenticity
The analysis of articles, reviews, interviews, and comments on MBF reveals the relevance of notions of authenticity in adaptation discourse. Bisoni and Farinacci (2020) explored the reception of the show. They collected articles, reviews, and viewer comments generated in dialogue or in response to reviews, as well as real-time live blogging from social media discussion groups in Italy, the UK, and the USA. They found that the question of authenticity was a major point of discussion among viewers.
But what exactly is authenticity? Carroll (2015) observes that it is difficult to reach a consensus regarding a definition of authenticity or to create a test for authenticity. What we know is that notions and attributions of authenticity are socially constructed, culturally contingent, and historically situated. Lionel Trilling (1972) traces the origins of the discourse of authenticity in debates on the history and provenance of artistic works conducted in the world of art history and museum studies to determine the significance and value of these works. Massi (2023) reflects on dictionary definitions to highlight how authenticity is associated with notions of originality and authorship. The authentic is genuine and real, authoritative and authorized. Massi (2023: 3) also distinguishes between the objectivist perspective, which posits that authenticity is a characteristic inherent in objects that can be objectively measured, and the constructivist perspective, which takes a subjectivist stance to emphasize the relativistic nature of authenticity as an attribution that is socially negotiated.
Even more illuminating is MacCannell's description of authenticity in terms of Goffman’s notion of front and back regions in social establishments. The front is the clean, tidy, and elegant space where hosts meet and entertain guests or customers. Back regions include kitchens and closets, attics, cellars, and other spaces used for hiding people (servants, for example), activities, and tools that are used to prepare the staging of the front. A degree of concealment is necessary to preserve the aura of authenticity in the performance out front. This means that “sustaining a firm sense of social reality requires some mystification” (MacCannell, 1973: 591). Tourists travel in search of authentic experiences, but the front regions that they explore are frequently staged. MacCannell (1973: 597) concludes that tourists may believe that they are moving in the direction of authenticity: but often it is very difficult to tell for sure if the experience is authentic in fact. It is always possible that what is taken to be entry into a back region is really entry into a front region that has been totally set up in advance for touristic visitation.
According to Gilmore and Pine (2007), this growing desire for authentic experiences is related to the emergence of the Experience Economy. Consumers’ focus has gradually shifted from goods and services to experiences and memorable events. Paradoxically, an increasing demand for real experiences led to the proliferation of sensationally staged experiences, an increasingly unreal world. Gilmore and Pine offer the example of the recreation of foreign places in Japan or even Las Vegas. While real spaces like Venice are becoming globalized and staged for tourists, reproductions of these spaces that are created with great attention to detail can convey an idea of authenticity. In their study of heritage tourism, Chhabra et al. (2003) found that a high perception of authenticity can be achieved even when an ethnic festival is staged in alternative places where organizers try to capture and faithfully reproduce the elements of the original place and traditions. This means that it is becoming increasingly difficult to determine what is a real experience and what is not, or to distinguish the authentic from the inauthentic. To different degrees, all experiences appear to be somewhat contrived and fabricated. Staging does not preclude authenticity, and should not be associated with superficiality.
The discourse of authenticity is particularly foregrounded in reflections and comments on the casting of MBF and the construction of the set. The next subsection will focus on casting. Then we will move on to considerations of the set built for the series, before looking at reflections on the use of the Italian language.
Casting for authenticity
Authenticity in the representation of the characters’ personalities was the most important criterion for the selection of the four Italian actresses. This meant that these actresses had to be born and raised in Naples and have a good command of the Neapolitan dialect. The child actors are Ludovica Nasti (Lila) and Elisa Del Genio (Lenù). At the beginning of the third episode of season 1, these actresses are replaced by teenagers Gaia Girace (Lila) and Margherita Mazzucco (Lenù). The casting strategies for MBF were focused on finding characters that could be credible in the roles of Lila and Lenù.
Just like adapting, casting is a process of interpretation. As Renga (2020) reports, casting directors Laura Muccino and Sara Casani wanted to manufacture an authentic experience from the novels. They started the casting process by looking at post-war photographs, cinema, and art. Then they looked for actors and actresses born and raised in Naples and surrounding areas. More than 8000 children auditioned for the parts of Lila and Lenù. HBO producer Schuur explained that the actresses had to speak the Neapolitan dialect because that was the only way to bring the show to life in an authentic way (Sarner, 2018).
Special attention was paid to expressivity and communicating with the face. There was no experience required for the auditions; rather, what Muccino and Casani sought was the ability to convey Ferrante's story in real life, to execute a true interpretation. How readers of the novel interpreted the characters needed to be replicated in physical form to truly create an accurate transposition of the novel to the film. While Renga does not address this point explicitly, an advantage of casting non-professionals is to eliminate distractions for the viewers. As the actors and actresses are unrecognizable, viewers will pay more attention to the role being played than to the actor who is playing the role. Even more importantly, the figure of the non-professional actor introduces a point of friction that disrupts the forces of globalization and homogenization by preserving an element of foreignness. Elaborating on this point, O’Rawe (2020: 75) observes that “the non-professional can be interpreted as a sign of resistance against an economy of global stardom, and as such is often a welcome presence on the festival circuit.” As opposed to the glamor of stardom, the presence of Gaia Girace and Margherita Mazzucco at film festivals substantiated claims of authenticity that inspired the marketing campaign for the series.
The biggest set in Europe
Another way to create an effect of authenticity was by investing significant time and resources in the meticulous construction of the set. Costanzo defines building the set for MBF as a “gargantuan enterprise work”; gargantuan and costly, as the team rebuilt the entire neighborhood described in MBF (Rotterdam International Film Festival, 2019). Reilly (2018) and Leotta (2020) suggest that the protagonists’ neighborhood was based on the impoverished rione (neighborhood) of Luzzati in Naples. Reilly reports that the producers felt it would have been too complicated to transform this rione into a post-war urban environment. Another significant problem was that the rione was in a state of decay and disrepair. For these reasons, the neighborhood had to be reconstructed. Using an abandoned factory near Caserta designer Giancarlo Basili built a 215,000-square-foot set outside of Naples—the biggest for a European TV series (Sacco, 2018)—to bring to life Lila and Lenù's neighborhood.
Going back to MacCannell's notion of front and back regions, we can argue that the reconstructed set represents the back region of the city of Naples whereas central locations, such as the Galleria Principe Umberto and Piazza Museo as well as the island of Ischia, where Lenù spends her vacation after school, are front regions staged for tourism. A leitmotif of the TV series is the divide between the impoverished rione and sophisticated settings such as the city center and the island of Ischia, which are associated with middle-class wealth. Because it represents the original rione, the reconstructed and artificial set is perceived to be more authentic than ‘real’ neighborhoods in Naples. Just like the ‘tourist gaze’ (Urry, 2002 [1990]), the viewer’s gaze is informed by a wide range of media representations of impoverished regions of southern Italy and their epicenter, the city of Naples. Literature, articles, photos, films, and even records shape the representation of actual locations and generate attributions of authenticity that travelers will only have to ascertain and confirm. As Leotta (2020: 206) argues, the reconstructed neighborhood caters to voyeuristic viewers and travelers who are primed to enjoy “the spectacle of the city's state of decay” while seeking “the thrill of discovering the dark beauty of the Neapolitan urban space.” From this angle, the reconstructed set provides a form of mystification that caters to the traveler's need for authentic experiences. In its representation of Neapolitan culture, the artificial set is perceived as more authentic than real neighborhoods. When filtered through the viewer's gaze, the inauthentic becomes authentic while the authentic is dismissed as an ordinary and, paradoxically, staged representation of life.
Bisoni and Farinacci (2020) report that some viewers did notice the artificiality of the neighborhood and the fact that the neighborhood is not bustling with life, but many others found the setting authentic and appealing. Following Segnini (2017), we believe that the Neapolitan setting played a key role in the international success of the books as Naples represents Italy's contradictions: the glamor of educated elites and the visceral brutality of mafia affiliates, the colorful beauty of the gulf and its islands and the dark alleys of the dilapidated rioni. When visiting Naples, virtually or physically, the international tourist wants to experience these contradictions and this sense of estrangement from these alien spaces. While it is difficult to quantify the actual impact of MBF on Neapolitan tourism, Leotta mentions the proliferation of companies that offer tours of the places featured in Ferrante's books as evidence of a rebound in tourism following the distribution of the TV series. In addition, several English-language articles published in well-established news media focused on Ferrante's Naples. Finally, the 2019 edition of the Naples Lonely Planet guidebook also featured sections devoted to MBF.
The goal of authenticity for the artificial set also inspired the choice of the color palette for the series. Monochrome tones are used to bring viewers into the grim post-war climate of the time (Sacco, 2018). There are two reasons for this choice. First, the director and the set designer Giancarlo Basili wanted to convey a general sense of gloom and depression. Second, they wanted to create a sense of estrangement as well as introduce an element of difference with reference to the intertexts of the show. In an interview for Italian newspaper Il Corriere del Mezzogiorno, Basili explains: “I didn’t want to replicate an image of Naples built through cinema. I rather preferred a Northern European look. That right distance that allowed the series to get close to the stereotype without ever ending up in it” (Sacco, 2018; translated from Italian into English by Verzella). What Basili seems to be saying is that pursuing photographic authenticity would have been detrimental to the series because it would have catered to viewers’ preconceptions of post-war Italy and stereotypical representations of southern Italian cityscapes and ‘socioscapes.’
In the case of MBF, the quest for faithfulness and authenticity did not result in the desire to simply make a copy of the original neighborhood. Basili introduced elements of difference in the reconstructed set to avoid a brand of realism that would have reinforced stereotypical representations of southern Italian urbanscapes and culture. The solution adopted by Basili lends further evidence to the idea that complex staging does not preclude authenticity; rather, it has the power to challenge viewers to look at a reconstructed space with a critical attitude. Faithfulness and authenticity can be achieved without resorting to blind imitation because these attributions are always determined by socio-cultural factors and historical contexts: photographic realism will never render the layered complexity of places, events, and human experiences.
Preserving the Italian language
Another key factor in the preservation of authenticity was the use of the Italian language. The use of Italian over English was an unconventional decision, the first of its kind for HBO (Sarner, 2018). On a platform like HBO, it would be expected for a series to be filmed in English. However, filming MBF in English would have been a form of acquisition enacting Hollywood's homogenizing and globalizing aesthetic. With reference to the English-language version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011; original film Män som hatar kvinnor, 2009), Archer (2012) argues that the lackluster box office performance of this and similar Hollywood films shows how remakes have become irrelevant as viewers are increasingly exposed to international films and series subtitled in English (Archer, 2012). Archer explains that the Swedish film's authenticity was foregrounded in public discourse after the release of the Hollywood version. New promotional material for the film emphasized notions of originality and ownership.
It can be argued that the use of English for the US market would have allowed MBF to reach a wider audience and to receive more recognition and possibly more award nominations. Surprisingly for a high-budget HBO series with global viewership, MBF received only two nominations at prestigious awards: Best Television Series – Drama at the 2019 Critics Choice Awards, and Best Foreign Language Series at the 2023 Critics Choice Awards. In an article published on The Hollywood Reporter, Bahr (2021) observes: “Had it been produced in English, My Brilliant Friend may have been dripping in Emmy Awards and nominations like these other high-quality series.” Bahr is right on target when observing that the series would have lost its authenticity if showrunner Costanzo had chosen to film it in English. The faithful adaptation of the novel as well as the high production values of MBF allowed the series to pique the interest of both Ferrante's fan base and a transnational community of viewers interested in the challenges presented by authenticity. As a fan of Ferrante's work, Schuur did not object to the goal of preserving the authenticity of the novel and Costanzo's original vision. In general, the producers agreed that what “they had was very unique and special and there was an appetite for it around the world” (Sarner, 2018). Preserving and promoting the authenticity as the added value for the series would help sell this adaptation to a platform like HBO while catering to an increasing global demand for HBO-style, high production-value, long-format quality television (Murray, 2012).
Reflecting on the use of subtitles for the HBO version, Cordisco and De Meo (2022) mention how the use of the Neapolitan dialect posed a challenge to the translation process. Even the Italian version of the show required intralingual subtitles for Italians viewers who are not familiar with the Neapolitan dialect. All the other versions required interlingual subtitles in diverse target languages. The authenticity conveyed by the use of the Neapolitan dialect could not be captured in the subtitles, which are usually standardized according to long-established industry practices. The use of standard Italian for the subtitles of the Rai version and standard English for the HBO version of MBF resulted in what translation theorist Lawrence Venuti (1995) would call a “domestication” of the show, especially for non-Italian audiences. A low degree of domestication, to be fair and precise. In translation theory, domestication refers to the reduction of the foreign text to target-language cultural values, which aims at making the source text more understandable for new readers. The technical constraints of mainstream professional subtitling favor the transfer of communicative features to the detriment of linguistic and prosodic features that characterize dialects. As a consequence, the tonal range of the original conversations was neutralized, again, to a degree, through a leveling out of speech peculiarities that characterize the Neapolitan dialect. Once again, authenticity through the use of the Italian language and the Neapolitan dialect, and inauthenticity through the use of standard languages for the subtitles, intermingle to provide viewers with an experience that is both immersive and intellectually stimulating.
Conclusion
Adaptation is neither dismissive nor affirming of the original, but rather allows for a space of development and reinterpretation of the ideas of the source material. Even if theorists have cautioned against using faithfulness and authenticity as evaluative touchstones for adaptations, show creators, audiences, and critics still see these concepts as extremely relevant. This article interrogated these concepts to show their problematic nature, ambiguous quality, and elusive meanings.
While Costanzo and Ferrante aimed at faithfulness, transposing a story from one medium to another will always produce differences. The shift from the literary to the cinematic will usually require condensation and concentration, especially with regard to plot and characters (Straumann, 2015: 251). However, embracing difference does not mean eliminating deference to the original author, conceived in Romantic terms as the creative genius, or a reverence for print culture that still informs decision-making in the adaptation industry (Murray, 2012). The fetishization of the book for its authoritative seniority as an art form (Stam, 2000) is evoked in visual terms in scenes in which Lila and Lenù avidly read their precious copy of Little Women. For some, literature will always be a superior form of artistic expression over any adaptation of it. From this angle, inviting Ferrante to join the team of writers as well as soliciting authorial commentary on drafts of the screenplay allowed the series to receive the author's imprimatur for the necessary transformations of the source material. As Murray (2012) explains, authorial imprimatur is an important component of the marketing strategies for adaptations. Viewers, especially longtime fans of Ferrante's work, had to be reassured that the adaptation would not deviate too much from the source material, the authoritative book. On the other hand, fidelity to the “heart” of the story—an expression that Costanzo uses in an interview given at the Venice Film Festival (Fred Film Radio, 2018)—does not mean preserving every element of the original source. Fidelity and infidelity will always coexist in an adaptation, as formal equivalence needs to give way to reinterpretation and dynamic equivalence.
The same can be argued for authenticity. While reconstructing the set with meticulous precision might suggest a desire for authenticity, the Northern European look chosen for the sets aimed at dismantling typical representations of the Italian south by foregrounding an element of difference and discontinuity from tradition. In MBF, the back regions of the rione are staged in the same way as the front regions are prepared for viewers and tourists. The sets are artificial and staged, and yet they appear real to viewers, whose gaze is shaped by media representations of unfamiliar spaces. Similarly, the use of the Italian language conveyed an effect of authenticity that was much appreciated by transnational audiences of sophisticated shows like MBF. The producers knew that the uniqueness of the show had to be preserved to satisfy an appetite for authentic experiences that unites viewers from around the world. At the same time, the authenticity conveyed by the use of the Neapolitan dialect was mitigated by the use of standard Italian and standard American English in the subtitles for the show. This shows how elements of authenticity and inauthenticity coexist and interact in every aspect of the TV series, thus defying reductionist views of complex adaptation work.
As new technologies arise and the world of media evolves, literary adaptation is seeing a new growth. Show creators can draw from a large inventory of successful novel series to produce TV shows that will be released on multiple platforms for international audiences. In this emerging scenario, tighter collaboration between authors and adapters will be favored to preserve at least an aura of faithfulness and authenticity for the adaptation. This is what viewers seem to want: respectful imitation, deference to the original Author and source material. We agree with Murray (2012) that the Romantic sanctification of authorship appears to be strategically cultivated by the adaptation industry even if adaptations should, in theory, question the very concept of individual authorship. Adaptation is about reinventing the way an original work was understood and interpreted to allow for an ever-evolving dialogue between texts, people, and ideas. The quest for fidelity and authenticity places limitations on adaptations and their ability to stimulate critical readings and understandings of source materials. By embracing the transformative potential of adaptation, including its ability to transform the original message and meaning, an adapter can encourage new audiences to rethink their approach to a text, and to question and reevaluate their interpretations. Lamentably, adaptation, just like translation, is still held to be a derivative endeavor; something that comes later in time, and hence is secondary. Even if there is value in discussing faithfulness and authenticity, provided that these concepts are seen as problematic and elusive, adaptations should be appreciated for how they enrich their source texts through creative reinterpretations. Adaptations transport sources into new historico-cultural contexts and new media, thus attracting the attention of different audiences who will initiate debates that will enhance the value and extend the life of original works.
