Spider by Patrick McGrath. London: Poseidon Press, 1990. $18.95 — 221 pp.

'Spider' directed by David Chronenburg. Released February 2003 (U.S.). Rated R — 98 minutes

For those of us who are accustomed to seeing Ralph Fiennes in such roles as the sleek Nazi in “Schindler’s List” or the brooding lover in “Wuthering Heights,” the opening shot of David Chronenburg’s new film, “Spider,” will prove disconcerting. We first see Spider Kleg (Fiennes), a disheveled, poorly dressed man, getting off a train and shuffling along the sidewalk in an English village (circa 1970). Spider mutters to himself, picks up debris and stuffs it into his pockets, checks his “personal effects” (he keeps them in a sock stuffed inside his pants), and stares anxiously at street signs. Clearly, Spider is one of the world’s psychological casualties — one of “the walking wounded.” After much indecision, he finds himself standing before a boarding house and finally manages to ring the bell. An impatient landlady (Lynn Redgrave) leads him inside, telling him that his “room is ready.”

“I won’t be staying long,” Spider tells another boarder (John Neville), “I’ll be returning to Canada.” Before long, it becomes obvious that all of the other boarders are disoriented, bereft fellows, many of whom sit in lonely isolation, muttering to themselves. Some occasionally veer between apathy and rage, requiring physical restraint. Although Spider is allowed to go and come freely, he remains furtive, hiding his journal (filled with illegible entries) beneath the carpet in his room. He becomes anxious about his gas heater, imagines he smells gas, and views a nearby utility building, “the gasworks” with dread.

Gradually, it becomes evident that Spider has “returned home.” As a child, he had once lived in a nearby street, but now, he has difficulty venturing into his old neighborhood. When he forces himself to visit a number of familiar landmarks — a local tavern and a communal garden called “the allotments” — he is besieged by memories.

At this point, David Chronenburg gives us two Spiders: one is the shambling, anguished adult; the second is a 10-year-old child (Bradley Hall). As Spider watches his childhood “self,” he becomes a kind of voyeur, observing his own tragic story unfold — and he is unable to stop it. Spider sits in the local pub and watches his father (Gabriel Byrne) drink while he stares at the local doxies. Then, he watches Spider, the child, enter the pub in order to fetch his father home to supper; he notes that his father goes reluctantly, much preferring the company of the prostitutes.

Spider, the child, is caught in a web of domestic conflict. He watches helplessly as his father and mother struggle against boredom, poverty and a sense of entrapment. Bill Kleg, a plumber, ekes out a livelihood, but spends much of his time drinking and tinkering with “the faulty pipes” of the prostitutes – a non-paying job. Spider’s mother cooks, weeps and confides in her son that she “wasn’t meant to live like this.” Using twine, the boy fills his room with intricate simulations of spider webs — metaphors of entrapment.

The ensuing events are both shocking and dreamlike. Domestic discord turns murderous, as Spider, the hapless child witnesses his mother’s brutal murder and her subsequent burial in a potato patch in the allotments. Then, in a surreal episode, the child returns home to find that his mother has been replaced by a smirking prostitute (Miranda Richardson).

Meanwhile, the adult Spider is having problems of his own. To his horror, his landlady, who has become increasingly badgering and sarcastic, suddenly “becomes” the prostitute that usurped his mother’s place 20 years ago. Spider’s past has invaded his present. As the threat of his old adversary becomes more persistent, he decides to strike back ... just as he did once before.

The ingenuity of Chronenburg’s film lies in its duplicity. As we watch Spider’s fate unfold, we unwittingly accept Spider’s version of the past. It is only when these events become increasingly bizarre — as when Spider’s surrogate mother serves the father and son a dinner of live eels — that we begin to suspect that something is awry in Spider’s world. In effect, we have accepted Spider’s “reality” and he is a schizophrenic.

In my opinion this marvelous film would be poorly served if I gave a prosaic account of how Chronenburg (and the novelist, Patrick McGrath) bring about the final revelation. As the past and the present collide, all of this film’s broken pieces come together like a jigsaw puzzle.

In fact, puzzles, broken windows, keys and the tangled skeins of spider webs serve as visual metaphors for Spider’s dilemma throughout the film.

Perhaps the most remarkable characteristic of Chronenburg’s film is its painstaking adherence to McGrath’s novel. At times, the film resembles a “visual translation” as the director renders the majority of McGrath’s vivid imagery with a faithfulness that is admirable. In a series of recent interviews, Chronenburg notes that he consulted the novelist when he encountered specific problems — episodes that “resisted” visual interpretation. Consequently, McGrath participated in the script’s revisions, and readily acknowledged that a number the changes were necessary. The DVD version of “Spider” contains a fascinating discussion of the difference between written and visual narrative.

For anyone who perceives film as an artistic medium, “Spider” constitutes a marvelous achievement. In addition, it is a significant testimonial to the belief that film can accurately reflect written fiction. Certainly, McGrath, one of England’s most competent novelists, has been well served.

(Gary Carden is a writer, storyteller and lecturer whose book, Mason Jars in the Flood, was recently named Book of the Year by the Appalachian Writers Association. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)