Issue 84 - Compromise

Welcome to Issue 84 of Deep Life Reflections, where I share five things I’ve been enjoying and thinking about over the past week.

This week, we explore the often paradoxical world of compromise through two works of fiction that share themes of obsession and destruction. In Patrick Süskind’s Perfume, we travel back to eighteenth-century France and meet a sinister individual with an incomparable sense of smell. We then take a new look at Fatal Attraction, a film that shocked audiences in 1987 yet compromised its original artistic ending for commercial appeal. Through these works, we contemplate how and why we make compromises in our own lives.

Join me as we explore this week’s Friday Five.

1. What I’m Reading

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. By Patrick Süskind.

“In eighteenth-century France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. His story will be told here.”

So begins the fictitious tale of one Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, that most rare of literary characters—insular, sinister, thoroughly unlikeable, yet entirely fascinating because of his singular talent: an incredible sense of smell. The greatest on the planet.

Grenouille’s creator is the German writer Patrick Süskind who penned Perfume: The Story of a Murderer in 1985. It’s an exquisitely written and ingenious story—an outcast’s homicidal quest for the perfect scent. Grenouille, abandoned by his mother at birth, was born with no natural scent of his own. In the filthy slums of Paris, we learn of his tough, hard existence, perhaps reluctantly admiring his durability. But as the subtitle makes clear, this is a murderer—one without remorse or compromise. We follow Grenouille as he takes his unmatched talents in pursuit of what he can never have.

Süskind must have spent countless hours researching the novel. The ancient art of eighteenth-century perfume-making is laid bare in all its fine, rich details, beautifully captured by Süskind’s prose. “Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea breeze, the tallow of her hair as sweet as nut oil, her skin as apricot blossoms… and the harmony of all these components yielded a perfume so rich, so balanced, so magical, that every perfume that Grenouille had smelled until now… seemed at once to be utterly meaningless.”

On one level, Perfume reminds us that our most powerful sense is scent. We may close our eyes to horror, cover our ears to deceiving words, or close our mouth to unpleasant tastes, yet we cannot escape scent. Our memories can be reignited in a heartbeat by a single scent from our past, even from a lifetime ago.

Grenouille is uncompromising in his diabolical and obsessive quest of creating the perfect scent, which overrides all other aspects of his (limited) humanity. His inability to develop a normal human scent leaves him alienated and unloved by others. This lack of a basic human trait corrupts him from the start, setting him on his path for power, not through money, status, or even companionship, but simply that people would love him through a force so strong it would evoke “insanity, of self-abandonment… they would quiver with delight, scream, weep for bliss, they would sink to their knees just as if under God’s cold incense, merely able to smell him, Grenouille!”

As Grenouille contemplates later in the novel, “He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men.” In Perfume, the refusal to compromise may grant mastery—but at a devastating and horrific cost.

2. What I’m Watching

Fatal Attraction (1987). Directed by Adrian Lyne.

Some films garner such a reputation that they become synonymous with the subject they’re portraying. For sharks, we have Jaws. For schizophrenia, Psycho. And for adultery, we have Fatal Attraction. While few would place Fatal Attraction in the same league as Spielberg’s and Hitchcock’s classics—and they’d be right—rewatching it in 2024 reveals a film with the potential for greatness—if only it hadn’t compromised its ending.

The story of Fatal Attraction is well known. Michael Douglas, in one of his classic 80s roles, plays New York lawyer, Dan Gallagher, happily married for nine years with a six-year-old daughter. He seems pretty content. Then he meets Alex Forrest, played by Glenn Close (who was far from first choice for the role.) There’s an instant attraction and when she finds him willing to be seduced, they have an affair over a weekend. Afterward, he makes it clear it was a one-off and he’s happily married. She sees it differently.     

From there, the story snakes into a taut, dark, psychological thriller as the increasingly desperate Alex spirals into a dangerous obsession, punishing Dan for what she sees as ignoring her. Phone calls to the family home in the middle of the night are just the start. Douglas is effectively stalked by Close, an interesting reversal of the more typical male-female stalker dynamic. This is compelling filmmaking as we are drawn into the ratcheting fear and frustration experienced by Douglas, as he contemplates the magnitude of his actions. However, this intelligent script is thrown out the window in the final third of the film as it inexplicably morphs into a slasher-film ending that betrays its original intentions.    

This wasn’t the original ending.

The original ending had Alex commit suicide while dressed in white, with Dan being arrested for her murder. This maintained the thematic alignment with Madame Butterfly, the opera to which the film made direct and indirect nods throughout. Puccini’s famous work is an enduring tale of unrequited love, following the tragic tale of a young Japanese girl who falls in love with an American naval officer, but ends her life when she realises she can’t have him. The original psychological ending of Fatal Attraction mirrored this bleak ending, exploring the consequences of infidelity in a more sophisticated way. You can watch it here with a short introduction by the director. But test audiences hated the original ending—they wanted retribution for Alex. So, reluctantly, the director reshot it.

Glenn Close was staunchly opposed to the new ending and initially refused to do it. A co-producer later said, “[Close] felt sympathy for Alex, a woman battling mental illness, and fiercely resisted cliches about another female psycho.” Close herself said, “The original ending was a gorgeous piece of film noir. But audiences wanted some kind of cathartic ending.” After talking with her friend William Hurt, Close went back and filmed the infamous horror-movie ending we know today.  

The film was nominated for six Oscars, including Best Film and Best Actress, though it didn’t win any. That ending probably helped give the film its reputation—it did for adultery what Jaws did for the water.

But unlike Jaws, it compromised its ending. Artistic integrity for broader appeal.

3. What I’m Contemplating

This week’s theme of compromise shows up in different ways in the two featured works.

Perfume offers a monstrous fictional character who refuses to engage with society—a rejection of the compromises that normal human relationships require. This refusal drives Grenouille down a path of obsession, isolation, and eventual destruction.

Meanwhile, Fatal Attraction also portrays obsession and destruction, albeit in more tragic terms, as Alex’s mental health leads to her ruin. However, the compromise comes from the film itself—rejecting its more artistic, psychological ending in favour of one designed to bring in more dollars and send audiences home happy.

Both stories invite us to contemplate where and how we make compromises in our own lives. I read somewhere that adulthood is a steady act of compromise: to grow up is to recognise how many things won’t be possible. While there’s truth to that statement, compromise doesn’t have to be seen as a negative. We’re always compromising; life rarely lets us remain in total control. Even the most steadfast environmentalist inadvertently impacts the environment, and the most dedicated professional eventually needs rest.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether or not to compromise, but where we want to be on that spectrum. Being comfortable moving up and down as we need—guided by our values and intentions—brings freedom.

A healthy first step is simply accepting compromise as part of life, then deciding where, for any given situation, we want to position ourselves on that spectrum. We can look to the words of Thomas Jefferson to help guide us: “In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock.”

4. A Quote to note

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”

- Aristotle

5. A Question for you

How can you bring more intentionality to moving up and down the spectrum of compromise, making it a conscious choice?

Thanks for reading and being part of the Deep Life Journey community. If you have any reflections on this issue, please leave a comment. Have a great weekend.

James

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