First time visiting? Start by finding out why I blame Gillian Flynn, then follow the Chapter order in the Archive list on the right.
I’m rather fond of movies both old and new (as long as they
don’t have mooning vampires in them, or Nicolas Cage), and I admit to enjoying both
physics-defying special effects and grainy black-and-whites; I can watch Orson
Welles whisper the word “Rosebud” or Groucho Marx belting out the chorus of “Lydia, the Tattooed Lady” just as easily as I can watch Loki go head to head with The
Avengers.
The older movies used to be tougher to find, but not so
anymore. This is largely thanks to Turner Classic Movies and the marvelous
technology that is the DVR. About once a week I check the TCM listings and grab
anything that falls into one of two categories: old movies I love and want to
see over and over again (with yuletide’s The
Bishop’s Wife topping that list), or old movies I feel I should see because they’re acknowledged
classics (like Fritz Lang’s Metropolis).
I’ve also fallen into the habit of grabbing any movie based
on a book I’ve read. Just recently, for example, I came across Zazie dans le Metro, a French film based
on a wonderful book by Oulipo member Raymond Queneau. I’ve been looking for it
for years. Turner doesn’t disappoint, even if he does require patience.
(My wife, by the way, has come to refer to this movie as “Sassy
Dancing”; that’s now the movie’s unofficial title. At least in our home.)
What does any of this have to do with my Pulitzer mission? Since
Hollywood loves to coat-tail literary success, quite a few Pulitzer Prize
winners have made the leap to the screen over the years, and of those quite a
few, quite a few circulate semi-regularly on TCM. In recent months I’ve seen: The Magnificent Ambersons, The Age of
Innocence, The Good Earth, Gone with the Wind, A Bell for Adano, The Way West, The
Caine Mutiny, All the King’s Men, The Reivers, and Advise and Consent.
I have The Old Man and
the Sea (with Spencer Tracy) in queue, and am still keeping an eye out for South Pacific and The Executioner’s Song.
In much the same way that I’d already read several Pulitzer
winners prior to this obsession’s onset, I’ve also seen a few of the screen
versions as well, including: The Grapes
of Wrath, The Yearling, The Shipping News, A Thousand Acres, Breathing Lessons,
Beloved, The Color Purple, The Hours, Lonesome Dove (the TV mini-series), To
Kill a Mockingbird, and the very recent Olive
Kitteridge, a wonderful two-part mini-series on HBO starring the
always-brilliant Frances McDormand.
I’ve come to the conclusion that most adaptations—particularly
those squeezed into two hours or less—can’t possibly do justice to a complex
novel. In fact, it would be fair to say that nothing ruins a good book like a
bad movie.
And there are some real clunkers on the list. The Way West, for example, wastes the
talents of Kirk Douglas, Richard Widmark, and Robert Mitchum by turning a story
that should have been about pioneers overcoming incredible odds with resolve
and fortitude, into one that’s basically a testosterone contest. The only
reason to watch it at all is to see a pre-Flying
Nun Sally Field over-acting as a teenage tart. A Bell for Adano also falls short on film. The movie loses all of
the humor and pathos of the book, replacing cunning and wit with badly directed
bravado. The titular bell becomes less a symbol and more of a punch line, and
nary a nodule of the book’s satire made it onto celluloid.
Perhaps it’s merely logical that nothing ruins a good book
like a bad movie, but what’s surprising is to find that nothing ruins a good
book like a good movie, too.
There are some truly good movies on this list. Gone with the Wind and All the King’s Men both took home
best-picture Oscars, yet I found them both noticeably flat when watched within
weeks of reading the novels on which they are based. Both are book-faithful in
plot, but still seem disjointed and forced. Even GWTW, at well over three
hours, seemed rushed, and I couldn’t help noticing the changes (subtle as they
were), and the differences between actor’s interpretations and the characters
as written.
Some movies are simply ground down by time. The Good Earth, a best picture nominee,
was a wonderful movie but isn’t anymore, a victim now of its time’s institutionalized racism;
though beautifully filmed, acted, and directed, I simply couldn’t get past Luise
Rainer and Paul Muni as the ostensibly Chinese leads (despite Rainer’s
Oscar-winning turn).
Perhaps any viewing damages the text in subtle ways; the
imagination, fervid when reading, disappears before the moving image. One
solution would be to see the movie before reading the book; I experienced The Hours that way, and while I enjoyed
both words and visuals a great deal, I couldn’t quite get the image of Nicole
Kidman’s Woolfian prosthetic out of my mind. A minor distraction, but
distraction nonetheless.
Another solution would be to read the book first, but then
allow substantial time to pass, waiting as the author’s plot turns to grey in
memory’s fog, replaced instead by a strengthened sense of the novel’s themes
and emotions, thus preventing the distraction of minor differences,
compressions, or character shifts.
Or perhaps (and I’m only thinking this now as I scribe), I
should simply attempt less pretension, and just enjoy what there is to
enjoy.
Some knots are Gordian for a reason: we experience what we
experience in whatever order, and are left to feel what we feel accordingly.
What if, as a child, I had read Peter Pan before watching Mary Martin strung above a narrow stage? Or The Wizard of Oz without knowing Bert
Lahr’s not-quite-fearsome bluster? I’ve enjoyed both forms since, and imagine I
can do so again with any of these movie/book combinations. Perhaps what makes
me so critical is neither book nor movie, but the project itself, the obsessive
knot in which I’ve tied them.
At least two of these movies—and more than two of these
books—I’ve finished only because of the project; the project is unto itself
(especially now that it’s more than three-quarters complete) and, I think,
spoiling some of what could have been joy.
On the other hand, would I have ever watched The Caine Mutiny without it? Or read A Bell for Adano? Assuredly not, and
both offered time well spent. And so it’s for me to find the balance, looking
for the benefit in what I might not always, technically, enjoy, but what I still feel enjoined to do. I can’t envision,
certainly, stopping…..
Read since last post:
- The Hours, Michael Cunningham (1999)
- The Executioner’s Song, Norman Mailer (1980)
- A Journey in the Dark, Martin Flavin (1944)
- So Big, Edna Ferber (1925)
- The Able McLaughlins (1924)
Currently reading:
- The Stories of John Cheever, John Cheever (1979)
- Honey in the Horn, Harold L. Davis (1936)
- Humboldt’s Gift, Saul Bellow (1976)
Count: 69 read, 18 to go
