Conversing with a Classic by Ramsey Hootman

Conversing with a Classic

Ramsey Hootman

Retellings often get an eye-roll from those who consider themselves more “serious” readers of literature. If it’s just the same old story in a new package, why not read the original? And how many versions of Pride and Prejudice do we really need, amiright?

I disagree. While many retellings are simple good fun—Pride and Prejudice and Zombies comes to mind—they also influence our interpretations of the source material, inspiring readers to reexamine stuffy classics from a fresh perspective. 

My favorite retelling is Roxanne, Steve Martin’s brilliant modern riff on Edmund Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac. In the original, Cyrano is a poet with a nose so absurdly long that he is convinced Roxanne can never love him. Instead, he writes to her on behalf of a handsome soldier named Christian—who hastily marries Roxanne before heading off to battle. When Christian is killed, and Cyrano resolves to take the secret to his grave. Roxanne discovers the truth fifteen years later, as Cyrano meets his end in one of the most poignant, tragic death scenes in all of literature.

In Roxanne, Steve Martin spins Rostand’s premise into pure comedy gold. Cyrano becomes C. D. Bales, a fire chief with a talent for sniffing out fires with his long nose. In this modern context, C. D. could simply fix his problems with plastic surgery—but, like the original Cyrano, he’s too proud to admit such vanity, even if it costs him his heart’s desire. Martin retains the plot structure, including the monologue in which Cyrano mocks his own nose, rewriting them with his own comedic flair. In his version, however, C. D.’s secret is revealed in time for him to save the day and get the girl.

A fun romantic comedy? Yes. But also a brilliant commentary on the original. Tying Cyrano’s nose inextricably to his profession prompts us to ask whether Cyrano’s biggest flaw is not also his most valuable asset, while Martin’s happy ending forces us to wonder whether Rostand’s Cyrano died for artistic purity—or pride. Does “happily ever after” necessitate artistic compromise?

A few years ago, while revisiting both versions, I noticed that Martin’s script makes one subtle but important alteration: in Roxanne, Christian and Roxanne never get married. But, unlike the original, they do have sex.

Well—that opened a mental can of worms! Which is harder to forgive: a wedding under false pretenses, or sex under false pretenses? And if that encounter had resulted in a pregnancy? What then?

I couldn’t stop thinking about the story from Roxanne’s point of view. I knew if I’d fallen in love with a man and then found out he was only a stand-in, it wouldn’t matter whether we’d had sex or gotten married. The entire thing would just be incredibly, skin-crawlingly creepy. This wasn’t a romance—it was a nightmare.

And so Surviving Cyril was born. Though I preserved the 20-insults monologue, retrofitted with my own jokes a la Martin, I quickly realized my take would have to be a much looser retelling. This was because, from Roxanne’s point of view, the true conflict emerges only after she begins to grieve Christian’s death—unaware that the author of her love still lives in her most loyal friend.

In Surviving Cyril, like Cyrano de Bergerac, my Roxanne (“Robin”) is the recipient of a last letter from her beloved husband. But the reader, like Robin, remains in the dark about her husband’s secret. Cyrano (“Cyril”), the man behind the letters, reluctantly provides her son with companionship after her husband’s death. Readers who are familiar with the source material will pick up on the clues I’ve scattered and anticipate the revelation, while those who come to the story for the first time will be as surprised as Robin when she discovers the terrible truth.

I faced a choice, then: end with a happily-ever-after, like Martin, or the tragedy of the original? I did not think that Robin could, in good conscience, entertain the possibility of a relationship with Cyril after such a lengthy and elaborate deception. But by the time I reached the end of the first draft, I had come to see that killing off Cyrano, as Rostand had done, was too easy. Cyrano’s death is what allows the audience to forgive him for what he’s done. Even if he’s made mistakes, he has integrity, and he pays the price for his choices. But if we followed Roxanne off the stage after the curtains came down, how would she feel? Used? Betrayed? Resentful of all the years she’d wasted mourning the wrong man?

In the end, I chose neither comedy nor tragedy; instead, I sent Cyril off to prison to have a good hard think about what he’d done. I thought I’d wrapped up my tale in a neat little package—but somewhere in the back of my brain, the story kept going. I wondered what my Cyrano and Roxanne might say to one another, after the truth came out. Would they be enemies forever, or could they reconcile? And just like that, I had begun to write Cyril in the Flesh.

This is what I find most wonderful about retellings: how often starting with that “same old story” leads to a completely different outcome. And sometimes, you end up sailing right out past the horizon, into the great unknown.

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www.ramseyhootman.com

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Twitter: @ramseyhootman

Instagram: @ramseyhootmanauthor Ramsey Hootman is the author of Courting Greta, Surviving Cyril, and Cyril in the Flesh. Her writing is often set in her hometown of Healdsburg, California. She currently resides in the San Francisco Bay Area. 

CYRIL IN THE FLESH

Forgiveness is the best revenge.

Once upon a time, hacktivist Cyril Blanchard’s passionate letters won the heart of the woman he loved. Unfortunately, he let his best friend take the credit—and the girl. Robin discovered the truth years too late, after a hacking exploit gone south left her husband dead and Cyril in prison.

Now he’s out, and Robin says she’s prepared to give him a second chance. Unlikely. Cyril may be pretty on paper, but in real life he’s a belligerent, foul-mouthed neckbeard whose only coping mechanism is binge-eating his way back to five hundred pounds. So her offer to put him up in the ramshackle Victorian she’s renovating in small-town California seems less like forgiveness than a trap. Either that, or Robin’s lost her marbles. Possibly both.

Cyril doesn’t know what her game is, but he knows one thing for sure: he doesn’t get the girl.

He also can’t let her go.

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