Movie Adaptations

As a book lover I’m not too fussed about movie adaptations. I have an image of the characters from the book and an emotional attachment that the movie seldom delivers.

They are both very different mediums, and for the record (yeah, like you care) I LOVE going to the movies, but the experience provided by the book is in my opinion superior.

Two adaptations I watched recently brought all of this to mind. For both movies I had to wait until it arrived in DVD because my local cinema will only show films that appeal to the mass market and celebrity brain washed. Anything that requires a brain cell, fugeddaboutit. And as for them showing a movie with subtitles, you have a better chance of Katie Price becoming a nun. (Mmm, this is me wondering when one of her “books” will be adapted for the big screen. Gawd help us)

One was The Road. Fantastic book; I blogged about it last year, but the movie kinda left me with the overriding feeling of – what was the feckin’ point of that? It stuck very closely to the story of the book, which is fine, but gave me nothing new.

The driver for me through this book was the father/ son relationship and the horrific feeling that the boy was going to die. At times I had to put the book aside so that I could calm down before reading on. The movie gave me nothing of that. It was well made, well acted and suspenseful in parts but it just didn’t get my old heart beating with worry the way that the book did. Would it have been better had I not read the book first? Anybody out there who has watched the movie and not seen the book I’d love to hear from ya.

Another was – big clue at the top of this post – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. And this is where my theory falls down because this was a fantastic movie. Tense, atmospheric, well acted and beautifully filmed this film held me rapt from beginning to end. This is, of course, the Swedish version – in subtitles –  which brings me back to my earlier grump; does the Odeon chain think that the only movies worth showing are those made in English?

( As for rental stores, it makes me groan/ laugh every time I hire a movie from my local DVD store and the assistant warns me grimly, “This film has sub-titles.” I know, I know lots of people will probably not see the giant sticker on the cover and come in and complain when they start to watch the film and their poor wee brains can't keep up with words and pictures at the same point. Bless 'em.)

Sure, I was familiar with the plot and that detracted from my enjoyment - un peu - (don't ask why I put in some french when talking about a Swedish movie. It's my blog I can do whatever the feck I like) but nonetheless this is a wonderful piece of film-making. I hear that Hollywood is due to make its own version and how can they ignore it given the shitload of books that have been sold?

My advice for what it’s worth; watch the Swedish version before Hollywood ruins it.

The last book to make me cry...

When a book wins a literary prize it tends to put me off reading it. Being granted the title of “literature” by the so-called experts is not in my experience a guarantee of a good read. Ever since mankind stumbled blinking from the cave and squatted round the first fire a good story has been one of the ways we have sought entertainment. Let me repeat those words...a good story. List the elements of a good story and one of them you will find is plot and in their quest to concentrate on having the character lead the books the exponents of modern “literature” view the presence of plot as welcome as an untended backpack in an airport concourse.

There are books I’ve tried to read in this category where the prose adorns the page like a beautiful piece of lace; the minutae of the characters’ lives laid bare with all the precision of an X-ray...and yet... and yet... I couldn’t give a toss whether or not they found the family secret, the girl or indeed, their sanity. And bottom line - if your reader doesn’t care about your characters then you’ve lost.

This is long introduction to a prizewinner – the Pulitzer no less, that had quite the opposite effect on me. I absolutely loved The Road by Cormac McCarthy from the first word to the last. This book has had the Hollywood treatment and is about to appear at your local cinema, do yourself a favour and read the book first.

A father and son (we never learn their names) are alone in a post-apocalyptic world. They want to get to the sea, towards (possibly) survivable winters. “Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.” Ash falls like snow. The father is coughing blood, which forces him and his son, "in their rags like mendicant friars sent forth to find their keep", on to the treacherous road southward. They push their salvage in a shopping cart, fitted with a motorcycle mirror to keep watch on the road behind. Society has crumbled. There is no economy; no goods for barter. No food. Bands of cannibals patrol the road. The father has a pistol, with two bullets only: his wife, the boy's mother, has already committed suicide. If caught by others they will obviously rape his son, then slaughter and eat them both. He plans to shoot his son - though he questions his ability to do so - if they are caught.
The relationship between the father and son is central to the novel and acts as the engine to drive the story along in counterpoint to the scenes of utter desolation that surrounds them. As the boy and the father interact we live moments of beauty, despair and hope. I was so caught up in the text it felt as if I was observing real people on a quest towards safety. From time to time my worry became so great that I had to put the book down and go do something else.

Terrifying. Heartrending. Haunting.

And at the end I sobbed like a teenage girl at a David Cassidy concert.

Go on spill...what was the last book that made you cry?