Let’s Talk Process: Adapting a Concept

I touched on the idea of adapting a concept in yesterday’s entry, a review of Snowpiercer, the film that broke my brain.  It is the first to have done so in some time, mostly because I have lately (and by lately I mean for the past several years) tended toward films in which many things went boom and little of consequence was uttered by anyone.  I maintain there is great value in such movies, especially when your viewing goal is to completely forget the world exists for a couple of hours.

Concept adaptation has also been on my mind because my new television obsession The Musketeers, which I have mentioned several times, does a very similar thing to Snowpiercer in that it is faithful to the spirit of Dumas’ work, and yes, I’m sure, I just reread The Three Musketeers, down to the nuance and humor of the dialogue, but isn’t a copy or a remake or even a reboot.  It is its own thing, existing within the framework of the source material while, at the same time, being something special and other.

The third reason etc is at the forefront of my cortex (I’m trying to see how many ways I can think of to say “I’m obsessing over it a lot”) is because it is something that I, myself, am attempting to do right at this moment with my writer friend Denise.

Short version: Musketeers is space.

I know, right?

How does one go about adapting a concept?

I won’t rehash the Snowpiercer stuff.  If you want the deets, click here.

Yep. Cap is under the fur and dirt, I swear.

I will add, however, Joon-Ho Bong and Kelly Masterson were masterful at drawing out the core concepts of the graphic novels (post-apocalyptic setting, the sense of unending claustrophobia, the difference between rich and poor, the insane dedication of the engineer, the impending disaster of a dying engine) while structuring a new narrative that would allow viewers to engage where the graphic novel kept readers at a distance, create a variety of characters with whom the audience to connect instead of one guy who is, rightfully or no, kind of a dick.  By delineating with color and set that which is only displayed in black and white line art in the books; beautiful, but not nearly as effective in moving form.

Short version: one way to successfully adapt the concept it to keep the setting and the plot points at their most simple level, while rotating characters and visual cues around them.  Easier with a movie?  Yes, but possible with a book as well, depending on how into describing setting you are, or whether or not you choose to construct an illustrated or graphic novel.

Next, The Musketeers.  As in the books (which if you have not read, you should) buckles are swashed (many buckles), ladies are wooed (some successfully, some not so much), sordid pasts are revealed, Cardinal Richelieu (Peter Capaldi) is a devious bastard, and the king is sort of a dope.

Never insult the guy with the fancy hat.
image via thecustardtv.com

Howard Charles (Porthos) is a giant, Santiago Cabrera (Aramis) is unbearably handsome and cuttingly witty, Tom Burke (Athos) has exactly the right about of gravitas about his person, and Luke Pasqualino (D’Artagnan) is adorable and has that sort of innocent face a recently arrived country squire probably would.

The changes: the romance is all there, but it’s toned down a bit and people don’t fall in love in thirty seconds.  The King, while still worthy of many a rolled eye, does have a little bit of a backbone and pokes Richelieu whenever possible.  The costumes are period appropriate but they’re logical: shoulder guards, a blue-half cape that won’t get in the way during a fight, chain mail under clothes, leather over it, weapons hung appropriately on belts, people having long and short blades, muskets requiring reloading after a shot and being discarded after that shot during running fights.  Characters come from different backgrounds and castes.  Porthos, like Dumas himself, is biracial.  Athos is a nobleman who walked away from his life after a tragedy.  Aramis is a mystery.  D’Artagnan is a young man still finding his way.  The Cardinal has his mistress executed when he finds out she’s been fucking Aramis on the side because Richelieu was a gent of absolute power and that’s what gets of absolute powder do.  Married ladies resist their attraction to young apprentice Musketeers because they’re, well… married despite the dark, soulful, puppy eyes.  Not the first time, anyway.

Short version: the devil is in the details.  The Musketeers preserves a great deal of the dialogue style, the setting, characters’ names, and most of the major plot points of the book (the first one anyway) while adjusting details that, taken one by one, seem insignificant but make a huge difference when gathered in to a cohesive whole.

Yes, I am aware that this is a writing process blog and the previous examples are book to screen.  There aren’t huge number of adaptations that are book to book because, to a large extent, once a thing is written, it’s written.

My current project (with Denise), however, is an attempt to do just that.  The Musketeers have been reincarnated many times over the years.  I’m putting them on a space station and letting them duke it out with the religious leader of a vast, intersystem empire.

Ta da!

Which method am I using: rotating characters around the setting and concepts or digging in to the details?

Yes.  For a written concept adaptation to be successful, I think one must do both.

Why?

Because in rewriting a world that’s already been written, one has to build a new one without comparing it to the old one because, in the new timeline, the old version may not exist (wibbly wobbly, timey whimey, if you read this blog you probably know the rest).  It must give enough of a nod to its predecessor to acknowledge what it owes but, at the same time, be something different enough people want to spend time with it.  To keep the style and story true while altering some major elements such as giving women more of a voice or making Paris a space station.  Such things are difficult enough when going from writing to screen, but at least in that sort of translation, there’s a way to create a visual short hand.  In adapting book to book, one has to do it all with words.

Here is what we’re keeping:

The major plot points: King/Queen vs Religious leader, Musketeers attempting to protect the royals, religious leader not real happy about it.  The bucking of swashes to the nth.

Writing style: keep the wittiness and adventure and inherent bromance (loose term here, as two of the musketeers are female) without going overboard.  The more archaic methods of address (men calling one another “my dear” for example) and description.  It will not take anyone five pages to die, I promise.  A certain lightness even in moments of gravity.

The setting: sort of.  The station will be vast and it will have a vague sort of city layout.  There will be a palace and a market and a not so great part of the station.  Also, the concept of the “hotels,” the larger compounds where connected folk gather will stay.

Range of weaponry: the long range, short range, mid.

Secrets: Because what’s a “romance” without secrets and intrigue.

Basic social structure: Haves and have nots, family alliances, the essential three Musketeers and an apprentices.  It ain’t broke and an elite guard doesn’t make much sense without someone to protect.

Here’s what we’re discarding:

The prevalence of extramarital affairs: most of the men in the book have mistresses.  Most of the mistresses are married to someone else.  Different times etc etc and I don’t have an issue with it where stories are concerned, but it isn’t needed here and would, as it does in the source material, distract from the story.  It also takes far too many words to explain and I’m working.  Which is not to say we’re cutting out the sex.  There will be sex.  There sort of has to be.

Earth/the original Paris: we are moving in to space.  To a space station to be exact.  Structured much like a city but vastly different in that it’s, well… in space.  And if you poke a hole in it, everyone, high to low, dies a horrible death.

The muskets: unless one is a total moron, one does not simply shoot a projectile weapon where it might puncture a bulkhead and let the cold, dark hand of space rip the air from everyone’s lungs.  One must also acknowledge that the risk of fire in a contained space is great enough that only a really asshole would use a weapon that could potentially ignite one.

image via gizmodo.com

Misogyny: the times, they have a’changed.  Concepts still line up, as do styles, but we’ve come a fair way, baby, and the girls deserve to don the Fleur de Lis shoulder armor and sword belt.  Two of the musketeers are women, not to make any sort of a point but because the characters wanted to be women.  The Empress is no slouch either.

Names, except D’Artagnan.  Because these aren’t Dumas’ musketeers, they’re mine (and Denise’s); derivations yet, but still their own characters.  Each name is a nod to the character’s origin (the “Athos” character’s surname is, for example, ‘de Fere.  Athos in the original material was the Comte de Fere). Analogues, not regenerations.

Human origins.  The Porthos character is a humanoid scorpion, D’Artagnan has feathers, and the Empress has dragon fly wings, eyes, and coloration.  Because space station and sci-fi and why the hell not.

Porthos

D’Artagnan

The Empress

This is the plan.  We’ll see how successful it is.  Thoughts?  Something you’ve done?  Something you’d like to do?  Something you think is a total waste of time?  All reasons we have a comments section (just do us a favor and keep in constructive, huh?)