"There's no doubt in my mind that what John Bayley did in looking after Iris was an act of heroism. Precisely because he was obviously not terribly good at looking after himself. It was an act of love to continue to look after her and I found that tremendously moving. There was a major shift in their relationship - from Iris being the dominant partner, the person that John very much looked up to and deferred to - to her being completely dependent on him. One of the characteristics of the illness is that it peels away what is extraneous to reveal the essence of their relationship. That's a fascinating journey, and it's a journey that spans her whole life."
                                                                                                  director richard eyre

The screenplay for the film Iris, based on John Bayley's bestselling memoir, was adapted via email by director Richard Eyre and writer Charles Wood over a period of six months.
Did you write your books about Iris as a way of coming to terms with things?
Yes, indeed, it's perfectly true - in a more crude way, as a way to kind of cheer myself up when things were very, very bad.

Was it to give some sense of meaning to life?
I didn't exactly think that at the time. I really thought that I just wanted to write something. Something. I talk so often to Alzheimer's groups, caring groups, and I always say, 'I'm sure the really important thing is to have one hour a day if you possibly can - I used to get mine in the early morning - when you do something which is not connected with caring.' The best thing is if you just write down what it's like, what's happening. Even if it's no good, it's worth doing.

What is it like seeing yourself in the film? Do you feel any self-consciousness?
I do. I think that Judi Dench was bound to be more like Iris than I was like Jim Broadbent, but I thought he was wonderful. I feel flattered, and I think his speech pattern was extremely good, though of course one can't hear one's own stammer.

Do you think the description of her as a "saint" is accurate?
I don't think it sounds quite right. I think she was extremely good - if she hurt anybody in the course of a love affair, she would be terribly upset about it she took things very hard in that way. But I wouldn't call her saintly. She had a kind of interchange of partners with one of her very closest friends. They had this - it sounds like one of Iris' novels - I think they exchanged lovers when they were young. They didn't do it in a cynical spirit; they were in a state of frightful agony. It just happened that way.

The preoccupation with goodness is quite rare among writers and rarer still among philosophers. Most are concerned with evil rather than good. She was fascinated by power, power and evil, and power as evil. And in that sense her friend - and her lover - Elias Canetti was an extraordinary man. He was a very ambivalent character, because he kept saying he was against power, that he hated power, but he was the living exercise of it. He lived for it and by it. Quite literally, because people gave him money and supported him just because he was who he was and because he exercised this domination over them - and he exercised great domination over Iris. But I think not for long. One of the interesting things about 'Flight From The Enchanter' is that she shows how you escape from someone like that.

Did you feel in any sense you were her amanuensis?
I don't think so. She was very independent. We took each other for granted. She once said that 'What I enjoy about being married to you is that I can take you for granted.' There's a wonderful line from an Australian poet: 'Closer and closer apart.'

In the film I have Iris being able to speak at a point when I imagine she couldn't, when she says 'I love you.'
No, she could still say that. I thought that came in just the right place in the film. In a funny way she did say things like that. And she used these funny words like 'Susten pujeen.'

With my mother - who had Alzheimer's - I used to always think that there must be a way you could get through, if only you could learn the language, the 'Susten pujeen' language.
Did your mother manage to communicate at all with you?

No, you see she was in a hospital for years and years, and the nurses used to say 'Oh, she's in a really good mood today,' but because I only saw her every two or three weeks, I thought she had no moods at all. But I think that it was simply my failure to understand her language.
It's so difficult.

I know, John, but that's what I find so moving, that you tried so hard.
I'm continually looking back and thinking, 'Why didn't I do more, more, more?' There are times when I lost my temper; I don't exactly regret that because she never minded.

I can see that you would have felt desperately lonely if she hadn't been there.
When she went in to hospital, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was about three weeks, an astonishingly short time. I knew that it couldn't go on. I had to take her because I couldn't get her to eat or drink or anything. Oh, I depended on her more than she depended on me. I really do think that, that was what was so strange.

When you saw the film, how did it affect you?
I shed more tears over the film than I did in life, in a way, just because it represented so well what it was like. Obviously, one's conscious that the film is a work of art. And a work of art does move one more than things do in life.

How the Iris was adapted for the big screen

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