The Taming of the Clue: Adapting Literary Classics in ‘Clueless’ and ‘10 Things I Hate About You’
Teen movies of the ’90s were often seen as vapid and shallow. Films absolutely devoid of substance. And make no mistake, some of them were. You didn’t have to look very far at any point in this decade to find a movie with a questionable outlook. But when they were great, my God, they were great. A ’90s teen comedy firing on all cylinders, from Election, to Jawbreaker to Drop Dead Gorgeous was sharp-witted and deliriously funny, but with a layer of subtext, a control over rhythm and structure, and often a surprising sense of heart.
Well, okay, maybe there wasn’t much heart to those three examples, but there’s an abundance of it to be found in two of the biggest and best teen comedies of the decade: Clueless and 10 Things I Hate About You. I want to discuss these two together, though, not because of their popularity, but rather for the fact that they so perfectly embody the unexpected substance of the great ’90s teen movies because they are both based on classic literature.
Clueless is a modern adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma. In this instance, writer/director Amy Heckerling was more focused on modernizing the character of Emma Woodhouse rather than a conscious, direct adaptation. Which is surprising, because it actually follows the structure of the novel and upholds its basic cast of characters remarkably well. Still, as Heckerling intended, it is the character herself who makes it to the screen most intact.
The genesis of the film actually originated in another Heckerling movie: Jeff Spicoli, standout character of one of the finest teen comedies ever made, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. She wanted a female answer to Spicoli’s relentless positivity and found that in Austen’s Emma. Like Emma, Cher is laser focused on the bright side, always looking through rose tinted glasses. Everything she does, she does out of a relentless desire to help others. The only problem is that she becomes so focused on wanting to make a situation happen to her desired outcome, to the way she would want it if she was in the position of the person she is placing in that situation instead of herself.
Her intentions are always good but she always suffers the fatal flaw of not considering what the other person actually wants. Both Cher and Emma are matchmakers. They consider that their ultimate gift and it is the thing they believe they’re best at, so both consider it a point of pride. When a person desires someone more to their own taste than who Cher/Emma have chosen for them, that’s when the situation completely implodes. And for both, the weakness is exactly the same. They would be doing perfect if they just stopped at the set up, gave their friend the boost of confidence they needed to flourish on their own, but they don’t stop there. Not content simply to push their friends in the right direction, they start trying to write their friend’s life instead. And it naturally blows up in their face.
Cher makes a project out of new student Tai, wanting to turn a grunge kid into a socialite in a rags-to-riches success story. Travis is interested in Tai and she reciprocates that interest but Travis isn’t up to Cher’s standards so she sets Tai up with the much more popular Elton, who has no interest in Tai, leading to obvious disaster that could have been completely avoided by letting two kids who like each other get together on their own. Cher genuinely thought she was helping. She wanted to be a good friend. But she also wanted to control the situation at the same time and have it play out to her desired outcome even when there was absolutely no possibility of that ever working out. This is almost identical to what happens between Harriet and Elton in Austen’s Emma. The setting might be different, the language might be different, but it is spiritually and structurally a surprisingly faithful adaptation.
10 Things I Hate About You, on the other hand, is much more overt. This film wears its influences on its sleeve. I’ll admit, this one is not technically based on literature because, its source being William Shakespeare, it is based on a play. Written roughly between 1590 and 1592, The Taming of the Shrew revolves around two sisters, Katerina and Bianca, one is a headstrong “shrew” and the other is seen as the pinnacle of obedient feminine beauty. The trouble, of course, is that Bianca is not allowed to marry until Katerina marries, so Bianca’s suitors set out to find her a willing husband.
As an adaptation, it is more direct, at least in terms of explicit references. The modern day film revolves around the sisters Kat and Bianca Stratford, their surname stemming from Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon. Kat is even introduced to the viewer as “The Shrew.” If that wasn’t obvious enough, Kat’s best friend is obsessed with Shakespeare to the point that she genuinely believes herself to be in a relationship with him, causing Michael to dress up as the Bard to court her at the prom. And I don’t mind that at all. Honestly, that’s leaning so far into it that it’s obviously in on the joke and inviting the audience to laugh at the film laughing at itself.
There are vital differences to the source material, though, which is worth noting. Patrick Verona’s “taming” of Kat plays out very differently to the play, where she was essentially subjected to psychological torture until she eventually relented and agreed to marry him out of desperation, unable to bear it any longer. In 10 Things I Hate About You, Patrick takes the much more palatable approach of finding out her likes and dislikes. It’s still a deception, make no mistake, and is something he struggles with throughout the film before it all blows up. The movie also does a great job of portraying Kat and Patrick as characters on a sort of equal level in very different ways. They are the two scariest and most unapproachable people in the entire school. And the film deconstructs why they are the way that they are.
Kat has her guard up all the time. Whereas many teen movies of the era feature a protagonist with a dead parent, Kat’s mom just left. She abandoned her family and she never looked back and that is entirely why Kat’s family unit is the way that it is. She does not let herself get close to anyone because that is a horrible thing to go through, or even to process at eighteen years old.
Patrick, on the other hand, has a reputation that has gotten completely out of control. He is seen as a criminal, barely a notch above Michael Myers, especially with all of the various urban legends as to where he went when he disappeared for the previous year, when it turns out he had simply been taking care of his sick grandpa. I’ve always loved how perfectly low key that is, not just that it shows the typical softer side that contrasts his bad boy persona, but that people have gotten it in their heads that he was in jail when he was actually looking after his grandpa, just making soup and watching television.
10 Things I Hate About You is such a gleefully obvious modernization of Shakespeare, taking a great deal of fun in drawing attention to itself, that the title — which is the culmination of the entire movie — literally refers to a classroom assignment to modernize Shakespeare. It’s a clever, silly, very funny film but one of my favorite things about it is that its approach to humor is where it most succeeds as an adaptation.
There are some absurd gags, to be sure, and set pieces reliant on physical comedy, as was the ’90s way. But for the most part, the humor is often dry and almost always quick witted, stemming organically not just from the interplay between the characters but also the rhythm of the narrative itself. That’s exactly the way Shakespeare did it. And that’s smart, because the approach still obviously works. Anyone who has seen these plays done well on stage can tell you that comedy can, in fact, be timeless. Well-timed humor still gets laughter centuries later. Keeping that rhythm is one of the cleverest elements of an already clever movie.
Clueless and 10 Things I Hate About You adapt works from very different authors, from different mediums, even from different time periods, and yet they have clear similarities. Both feature main characters who are, despite their best interests, manipulative. Their characters overcome a learning curve that is as much an inward struggle as a struggle against any kind of outside force standing in their way. Both adaptations resulted in two of the greatest teen comedies of the decade, if not all time. And they both serve as perfect reminders of the emotional relevance that teen comedy can tap into, as a genre, when it is at its best.
