A bit of a change this month – I promise I’ll get back to the readin’ and reportin’ (I just finished Anne Lamott’s Blue Shoe and have some interesting thoughts on it). But I wanted to share this article, reprinted from the October 2008 Mensa Bulletin.

“It wasn’t as good as the book” is the second most common thing you hear coming out of a cinema, the first being “where are the restrooms?” Avid readers hate film adaptations, but Hollywood loves them, so much so that there is a separate Academy award for screenplays adapted from other sources.

But are all films based on books disappointing? I believe you’d be surprised at how wonderful some of these adaptations are. In some cases, films are able to portray action scenes more intensely. Consider the battle scenes in Gettysburg; in Michael Shaara’s book Killer Angels, the descriptions were rich but almost plodding. In the film, the action happens in much quicker, blood-pumping scenes. In other cases, a page of internal dialogue can be portrayed with a look; one longing glance from Colin Firth’s Vermeer in The Girl with the Pearl Earring says more than a page of description by author Tracy Chevalier.

Does this mean I don’t relish Chevalier’s or Shaara’s writing? Of course not; there is still a delight in not just the writing of a particular author but in the experience of reading in general. And some books should never be translated to film, because of the delicious pleasures of their written words. I can’t imagine Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping on celluloid; while the story might work, the grace and precision of every phrase would be lost. On the other hand, a writer like Nick Hornby, whose focus is much more on the storytelling than the language, translates beautifully to film – if you doubt, read, then watch, About a Boy.

So what makes a good adaptation versus a bad one? In my experience, there are a few key points that ruin an adaptation for me:
1. Don’t cut the subplots that make the main plot work. Film adaptations will often cut subplots, and with good reason: there just isn’t enough time. But the lack of some subplots changes the story. A classic example is Dracula; I can’t think of any film adaptations that deal with Harker’s trip to Transylvania, which explains why the Count is in London in the first place.
2. Don’t change details that don’t matter to the story but put the piece in a time and place. A couple of years ago, this library’s Based on the Book Club read and watched Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook. In the book, the ingénue comes from Raleigh. In the movie, they relocated her to Charleston. Why? We didn’t see anything different. There weren’t any Charleston-specific scenes. It is a minor quibble, but one that has stuck with me.
3. For goodness’ sake, if you’re going to adapt a book, actually use the original plot. I was surprised to discover that Simon Birch was based on John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. At least it was intended to be based on the Irving novel. By the time the film went into production, the script was so far from the original, Irving insisted that the credits read only “Inspired by the novel”. The film isn’t bad on its own; and the book is a classic. But for the love of art, do NOT experience them together.
4. Salient details matter. Perhaps I’m being picky here, and certainly if the film was being made today, you’d have a male actor and the original sad ending, but I still bristle at the thought of Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s being so significantly changed. Audrey Hepburn is lovely, but Holly Golightly’s character is so much, well, more, when you realize Holly is a man and the story is a sad one.

Other ways in which film adaptations fail are largely subjective – appreciating an actor’s performance may make or break your experience. I like Alec Baldwin as Jack Ryan in The Hunt for Red October; in fact, Tom Clancy cites Baldwin’s portrayal as his favorite. However, most people prefer the rugged Harrison Ford. Others may have an affection for subplots that had to get dropped in the interest of time. There are many delightful scenes in the Harry Potter books that never make it to the screen; however, I don’t think the films lose anything in the translation.

I for one love many films based on books, and I think part of the reason why is that I do separate the two experiences and enjoy both art forms. So put down the book and enjoy some of my favorite adaptations:

The Princess Bride – book by William Goldman, film directed by Rob Reiner and starring Robin Wright and Cary Elwes. While there is one obvious change – in the book, Goldman is sharing with us his father’s ‘abridgement’ of the S. Morgenstern tale, whereas in the film a grandfather tells the story to his ailing grandson – the film by and large is faithful to the original, down to the Impressive Clergyman. Read the book, though, for the most hysterical chapter on Humperdink’s attempts to find a bride.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil – book by John Berendt, film directed by Clint Eastwood and starring Kevin Spacey and John Cusack. Faithful to the story, but providing so much more, the film seems to bring alive the characters in a way that Berendt would love to have done through his words. In both the book and the film, the city of Savannah is a character itself, and both immerse you in that world. Cusack’s light touch serves the role of author/narrator perfectly.

Enchanted April – book by Elizabeth von Arnim, film directed by Mike Newell and starring Miranda Richardson and Josie Lawrence. It is perhaps one of the most lovely films I’ve ever seen, and one of the most lovely books I have ever read. The book is old-fashioned in a way that makes it largely overlooked; however, the adaptation in this case enhances the text, offering lush landscapes and indeed, more human characters. The book is sweet, but the film is beautiful.

These are three among many. Other adaptations of note include The Thin Man, Quiz Show, The Remains of the Day, LA Confidential, and of course the Lord of the Rings trilogy. If you’ve seen the films, check out the books. You will be delighted in the experience.

By Kimberley Debus
July 15, 2008

I just finished reading novelist Nick Hornby’s collection of columns from The Believer, entitled Housekeeping versus The Dirt, and I am inspired. Hornby’s column is not strictly book reviews but rather a peek into one reader’s experiences. Month after month (when the editorial staff he calls “The Polysyllabic Spree” dains to publish, that is), he tells us about books he’s bought and books he’s read. I saw that he, like any reader, picks up books that sit on the shelf for ages, sometimes goes on binges, sometimes savors each page like one might savor a perfectly-aged brandy.

As I approached the end of the collection, I felt motivated to write the same sort of column, only instead of telling you what I’ve bought, I’ll tell you about the books I’ve borrowed from the library. It is my hope that you will discover some books you might not have otherwise read, and enjoy even more deeply the experience of the reader.

Books borrowed:
Slam, by Nick Hornby
A Suitable Boy, by Vikram Seth
Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis

Books read:
Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain, by Oliver Sacks
Housekeeping versus The Dirt, by Nick Hornby

I tend to be a dilettante – I’m interested in music, film, theater, literature, science, psychology, archeology, spirituality. I’m sure that if someone looked at my borrowing habits from the last few years, they would notice no real trend at all: I borrow books from the library because someone recommended it, or I want to suddenly know more on a topic, or I’m briefly obsessed with an author.

Thus, it should be no surprise that I picked up Oliver Sacks’ latest, Musicophilia. After all, it blends two things I love learning about – music and the brain – into one handy volume. In a nutshell, Musicophila explores the various physiological and psychological disorders that affect how we perceive music. From the mundane ‘brainworms’ (those songs you simply can’t get out of your head no matter how annoying they are) to the more severe issues of aphasia and musician’s dystonia, Sacks makes the case that our experience with music can tell us much more about our physical and mental health than most knew.

Sacks, probably best known as played by Robin Williams in Awakenings, is a master of turning extremely complex cases into prose for the layman. You get the sense that he is always in that ‘beginner’s mind’ when exploring topics such as this; he seems genuinely engaged and fascinated as though talking about all of this for the first time.

And yet for all of his ease of reading, Sacks is exhausting. I could only take a few pages at a time, as there was so much information packed into each paragraph. It frankly became a bathroom book (oh, come on, you all do it, you know you do, so ‘fess up, accept that readers read anywhere, and let’s move on, shall we?). I’ve finished it now, and I’m glad I read it, but it has taken a long time to read. Your experience may vary, of course.

It was almost a relief, then, to turn to Hornby. As mentioned above, I dove into Housekeeping versus The Dirt on the train from Albany to Manhattan, and even though Hornby is English, he has a smart urban quality that transcends nationality. Perhaps this is why film adaptations of his novels (Fever Pitch, About a Boy, High Fidelity) play as well in the US as they do in the UK. Reading this collection set me in the mood for New York – but not in the snobbish, pay attention to the erudite words I use and how I scoff at pop culture way that some would project (Martin Amis, I’m talking to you). Rather, Hornby is the guy who loves a good story and a good turn of phrase, loves art films and blockbusters, travels a lot but also cleans his toddler’s messes. He’s just a guy.

I had always had that impression of him, and a conversation with a friend about Hornby’s novels sent me to the library catalog. I’d read several of his novels (the aforementioned, plus How to be Good) as well as Songbook, his homage to pop songs, but I’d read all of those ages ago, and it seemed a good idea to rest my weary brain with some easy prose that still made me think.

I was particularly pleased, then, to find that his preface confirmed what I have always thought about writers, that for me, the best of them are storytellers with rich characters and strong themes. As Hornby says, “You can get very little from a book that is making you weep with the effort of reading it.” If reading is to be pleasure, why struggle to enjoy it? I am like Hornby; I prefer prose that does not “draw attention to itself rather than the world it describes.” Now this isn’t to say that I’m not fascinated by use of language – I love Tom Stoppard and David Mamet, and of course Shakespeare, Hemmingway, and Parker. But to my mind, too many writers try too hard (and win too many erudite awards) to please the critics, to be lofty, snobbish, ‘must have read to be someone’ novelists. Thus, when Hornby recommends Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping or Jess Walker’s Citizen Vince, I take note. And put in interlibrary loan requests.

The books waiting? Some have been renewed several times already, because I truly believe I will get to them. The Willis novel is the last of those I borrowed of hers – a friend who knows I enjoy historical what-ifs recommended her to me, and I enjoyed To Say Nothing of the Dog and Lincoln’s Dreams enough to keep renewing Doomsday Book. A Suitable Boy was another recommendation by another friend, but at a daunting 1349 pages, it may go back to the library until I can really face the challenge of both length and a myriad of Indian names (which, upon flipping pages, appear to be as hard to keep track of as the Russian names in The Brothers Karamazov). Meanwhile, Slam is next on the bedside table – and one of the subjects of next month’s column.

Who knows what else I will discover?