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Kiri Case

Dennis Cutchins

English 495

December 19, 2017

Intertextual Vampires: Parody’s Place in Adaptation Studies

Chances are that in the last twenty-four hours, you’ve seen a parody. Maybe it was a

commercial spoofing the horror film genre, similar the current Stainmaster advertisement

running on YouTube (“The Stain”). Perhaps you passed a restaurant that parodies the 50’s. It

could have even been something as simple as a conversation with a friend, in which the two of

you bantered with quotes from your favorite TV show. As Simon Dentith surmises, “Parody is

part of all our lives. It occurs not only in literature, but also in everyday speech, in theatre and

television, architecture and films” (Dentith fourth cover). Surely something so pervasive, so

interwoven throughout our daily lives, deserves recognition and careful attention. Yet, many

adaptation theorists dismiss parody as a lesser form of intertextuality, completely separate from

the adaptations they study. In her book A Theory of Adaptation, Linda Hutcheon writes about

parody and adaptation as if they are two unconnected categories: “Like parodies, adaptations

have an overt and defining relationship to prior texts, usually revealingly called “sources.”

Unlike parodies, however, adaptations usually openly announce this relationship” (Hutcheon 3).

Hutcheon says this in passing, taking for granted the blurred lines between parody and other

forms of adaptation, and assuming that adaptation can only be adaptation if it “openly

announces” its relationship to a source text. The distinction cannot hold, however, because plenty

of parodies openly announce this relationship, while many adaptations fail to do so. Hutcheon

again tries to distinguish the two, writing, “Parodies have legal access to an additional argument
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that adaptations cannot really invoke as adaptations: the right to comment critically on a prior

work” (90). But according to Albriecht-Crane and Cutchins, “Adaptations should be seen as

responses to other texts that form a necessary step in the process of understanding (8). Carbon

copies teach us nothing. Response and criticism bring understanding. While it is true that the

function of a parody is to criticize, many adaptations have moved toward this territory as well.

Modern adaptations, for example, often double as a social critique on modern practices or

stereotypes. So this “distinction” between parodies and adaptations is only an attempt to narrow

the field of adaptation studies, rather than an accurate distinction.

Other theorists, such as Thomas Leitch, argue that calling parody an adaptation and vice

versa only complicates the study of intertextuality. In Leitch’s article, “Adaptation and

Intertextuality,” he argues that “to substitute ‘adaptation’ for ‘parody’ every time the latter word

appears, indicates how seductively easy it is to make precisely the same global and normative

claims for any of a number of intertextual modes of which adaptation is only one contender, and

by no means clearly the strongest” (102). According to Leitch, adaptation and parody are not

synonymous. They are two completely separate intertextual modes, and including parody in the

study of adaptation would open the door for many other intertextual modes that would only

distract from true adaptation.

But what do we lose when we exclude parody from adaptation studies? Or else, what

could adaptation theorists gain by including parody in the broader category of adaptation? I

argue that parody is an extremely important genre that deserves special consideration. If nothing

else, it is important because of how relevant and pervasive it is, both today and throughout

history. Certainly something that plays such an integral role in our lives should be studied

carefully, and adaptation studies provides the most reasonable pathway to study it. Using the
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Twilight Saga and its subsequent parodies as an example, I wish to argue that parody should be

included in the study of adaptation because it helps answer questions about quality of specific

modes of adaptation. Not only does parody inform us about other modes of adaptation, parody

functions as adaptation itself. It is a derivative work that succeeds only through recognizable

references to an original text—it fits better within adaptation studies than in any other field, at

least, any field we currently have. Parody meets Hutcheon’s criteria of “difference as well as

repetition,” and it is in this repetition with difference that parody derives its success (114). So

studying parody as adaptation can enhance adaptation studies as well by helping theorists focus

on the relationship between two texts, and the choices made by adaptors. And beyond enriching

the study of adaptation, parody is valuable because it criticizes human nature, society, and even

the audience themselves. I believe that the line between parody and adaptation is more blurred

than some theorists seem to want to admit, and this blurring is not simply a misunderstanding of

modes. Parody and adaptation are one and the same, and a close study of parody will give

adaptation theorists a broader understanding of the nature of adaptation, as well as an

understanding of society and culture.

Before exploring the deeper understanding of adaptation that parody affords us, it’s

important to understand what exactly parody is. In his book Parody, Simon Dentith points out

that the word “parody” has roots as far back as Aristotle, who referenced a parodia, which is “a

narrative poem, of moderate length, in the metre and vocabulary of epic poems, but treating a

light, satirical, or mock-heroic subject” (10). This same meaning seems to hold true today. We

can look to William Harmon’s and Hugh Homan’s A Handbook to Literature, which defines

parody as “A composition imitating another, usually serious, piece. It is designed to ridicule a

work or its style or author” (201). By very definition, parody is an adaptation. It relies on another
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text, and without an original work, it cannot exist. Although the main function of parody may

differ from other forms of adaptation (parody criticizes, while novelization broadens, video game

adaptation individualizes, etc), it still relies heavily upon an original work, just like any other

adaptation.

Because of this dependence on other texts, parody is often defined as “something less

than important; it has been defined as a parasitic growth on true works of art” (Gehring 4). But if

parody is a parasite, then it’s a mutually beneficial one. Though critics will knock parody for

being parasitic and harmful, parody often restores a waning text to public favor, in a way

bringing it back to life. As Dentith points out, parody “has the paradoxical effect of preserving

the very text that it seeks to destroy” (36). Parody seems to somehow pump the life force back

into certain texts, and this ability to preserve certain texts or styles, even while poking fun as said

texts and styles, also makes it worth studying. Parody and original text seem stuck in a cycle of

criticism and confirmation. Though Parody attempts to shame a text, in doing so it somehow also

preserves it for future admiration. And parasite though it may be, parody does not simply imitate.

It adds the “difference” Hutcheon refers to in the form of commentary.

From these definitions, we see that parody requires two key ingredients for success:

recognizable content and humor. Dentith acknowledges the need for recognition, noting that,

“One of the features of parody is that it depends for its effect upon recognition of the parodied

original, or at least, upon some knowledge of the style or discourse to which allusion is being

made” (Dentith 39). In other words, parody dies without a host. Using that Stainmaster

commercial again as an example, if I had been unfamiliar with the horror film genre and the

tropes inherent in it, the humor would be lost on me, and the advertisement would be ineffective.

The better the parody is at recreating the text, the more effective the parody. And once parody