Having established that theories of translation can aid our understanding of adaptation in Le Mépris, this argument can be strengthened by pausing to consider the extent to which translation is itself implicated in every aspect of the film's existence, from its very genesis to the exchange of dialogue between its characters. In particular, I will argue that though the film seems only implicitly to undermine the usefulness of 'fidelity' in adaptation-as just discussed--its problematization of the principle in the act of translation is worked out more thoroughly. And if we accept that translation and adaptation can be understood as closely related, if not quite interchangeable processes, then it should follow that Godard's comments on one may usefully reflect upon the other too.

The act of translation is integral to the life of Moravia's novel, even before Godard conceives of his cinematic adaptation. There is no scope to examine here the Italian text's translation into different languages, beyond brief consideration of one interesting aspect, the titling of the novel's translations. Moravia's original novel was entitled II Disprezzo, but the English translation of 1955 (Secker & Warburg, trans. Angus Davidson 1955) was published as A Ghost at Noon-a reference to the apparition of Emilia which appears to Riccardo near the end of the novel. Godard's film then translated the original title into French, hence Le Mépris, retaining II Disprezzo for Italian release, and using Contempt in Anglophone markets. No doubt as a result of the film's stature, recent editions of the novel in English use Contempt, thus returning, in a sense, to the title of the 'original' whilst simultaneously highlighting the interplay between text and film where, at different times and in different media, opinions over what constitutes an 'equivalent' title in translation or adaptation, have differed considerably. The linguistic choices in the matrix of disprezzo/mépris/contempt are thought-provoking-what does 'contempt' convey as an English rendering of the Italian? (Why, one might add, do I refer to the film by the French title when the English is used almost as frequently?) In addition, the choice of A Ghost at Noon invites comment. Does such a different title suggest that the English translator perceived his work as fundamentally different to the source text? Titles may be only a small aspect of a text, but nevertheless, as Shochat and Stam observe, they constitute 'an especially privileged locus in the discursive chain of film. As hermeneutic pointers, titles promise, prefigure, orient. This importance is all the more acute if the work is inevitably compared to an earlier one, as translation or adaptation.

Besides titling, the performance of the film's dialogue provides a sustained commentary on translation. French, Italian, German, and English are all spoken at various stages by different characters, and the film's narrative discourse must continually negotiate the communication of meaning between people who do not understand each other's language. This functions on two levels-the internal diegetic exchanges between the film's characters, and the transmission of those exchanges to Godard's audience-neither of which function transparently. Conversation between the characters is generally channelled through Prokosch's assistant and interpreter, Francesca Vanini. The astute viewer will notice that Francesca's translations do not always convey an utterance directly or comprehensively. On Capri, when Paul tells Lang, Prokosch, and Camille why he is quitting the project in favour of writing for the theatre, only half of his speech is translated. Earlier, when Prokosch meets Paul at Cinecittà, he laments that a supermarket is to be built on the lot, 'my last kingdom'; instead of conveying this to Paul, Francesca observes 'C'est la fin du cinéma.' To be sure, Francesca does not appear consciously to promote misunderstanding, but this last line is just one example of how her translation does constitute an interpretative rereading of the original utterance. Moreover, though she may not wilfully impede communication, it is patently obvious that when she is not there as facilitator, the dynamics between characters become tense and stilted, as in the scene at Prokosch's villa when Camille's discontent begins to emerge.

Communication of the film's polyglot dialogue to its external audience is also problematized. Most audience members will understand at least one language spoken on screen, whilst needing translations of others, meaning the viewer himself must negotiate between listening to the dialogue and reading subtitles. For the most part, the subtitles are relatively direct translations-though of course, their very existence is a constant reminder of the inadequate fit between spoken film dialogue and written text, which often compels a filmmaker to employ dubbing (itself still problematic). Godard resisted such moves, since the intricacies of the translation theme would obviously be invalidated. Nevertheless, DVD releases provide the opportunity to view the film with a dubbed soundtrack, which--in the English version at least-displays remarkable differences between the original and the dubbed translation.

Le Mépris's treatment of interlinguistic translation therefore serves to highlight the difficulty inherent in satisfactorily transferring meaning from one language to another. Thematically, this contributes to the film's concern with the communication barriers that potentially exist between everyone, even when speaking the same language. The difficulties that the international employees of Prokosch have is reflected, and made more urgent, by Paul and Camille's own communication problems-particularly in the central scene of their lengthy conversation in their apartment. But the film's translations also play out in such a way as to bring the process of adaptation into closer proximity, encouraging us to see the two as cognate. The flexibility of translation in Le Mépris and its source text(s), where titles change and translators reshape what they translate, makes it seem more like a process of adaptation than is often the case; and if the act of translation need not concern itself with 'fidelity', why should cinematic adaptation?

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