Let’s Talk Process: Why the Book is *Almost* Always Better Than the Movie
I have yet to meet a writer who doesn’t enjoy dream-casting each and everyone one of her beloved, bedeviled, reviled characters from her published, still in the works, or concept only magic bullet novel. It’s fun. Very few of us are under the delusion we’ll actually have the opportunity to see our words make the leap to image (let alone be involved in the process) but that doesn’t stop us because we want our babies to have the best possible futures and those futures are, of course best in the hands of each book’s personal Doctor Frankenstein. Because I would not toss my monster out, make him wander alone, promise him a girlfriend, and then chase him to the arctic waste.
I want, nay, DEMAND the best for my word children. At least in my own head.
The idea of having a movie made from one’s book? Incredible. Potential Holy Grail. Quit my job and do this other thing I actually want to do Holy Grail.
Also? Terrifying. I once heard Jim Butcher say (at a reading), he detested what Lionsgate did with their short lived Dresden Files; he reminded folks that one doesn’t HAVE to sign away the right is one doesn’t wish to and that contracts should be most carefully scrutinized. Which is a lovely thought if one is already a bestselling author, but what about the rest of us? Most of us don’t have a twenty-one book, no matter what, deal and a second series we’re writing because WE’VE always wanted to on the side.
I can count on one hand (actually, it’s probably 2 fingers) the number of times I’ve liked the movie more than the book. These days, if I REALLY liked the book, I often skip the movie or, if I haven’t read the book, use the movie as an appetizer, the popcorn and milk duds for dinner, and the book for dessert because I know that last is going to be my favorite part.
The book is almost always better than the movie. We’re agreed.
Why?
The Practical:
Communicating via image/spoken means is very different that communicating via the written word: Some things are simpler on screen. There have, for example, been many, many studies on the universality of facial expression. The written word is most certainly not the same sort of common language (not in the “mother tongue” sense, though that plays into translation as well). The same word can have many meanings and very different implications for various individuals. Even in the bastard mongrel that is English. There’s no way for even the most skilled of actors to capture all of them without breaking something or expounding in grand and boring-ass fashion that sends the audience to the loo or just plain out the door.
Choosing the right bits: It just never seems to happen. Distillation is necessary; movies run around two hours for the most part; even a short novel is a 5 or 6 hour investment, even when one reads at a good clip. Often, however, it feels as though the still breaks down and we get rotgut instead of gin. Missing characters, essential plot points absent, the little things that make the book special discarded on the altar of special effects or an amping up of a relatively minor love story for marketing purposes. The visual incarnation has such marvelous opportunities to be dimensional and full, yet somehow, to me, it always feels flat. This is often true even in films where the original author and screen writer are one in the same, or in which the novelist has a least some input and perhaps that’s because novel writing and screen writing are two very different things with very different proprieties.
Pacing: Movies are short; they take up two hours of your time and, once you walk out, there isn’t much more to do with them. Books one can spend days, weeks, months, or even years with. By virtue of the aforementioned constraints, a film has to drag you along behind the train or lose you; some run and some stroll (Guardians vs Remains of the Day, say) but there’s very little margin of error (The Return of the King fell off the edge of the pace early on; I was ready to drown the Hobbits, steal the ship, and make a break for it. But there were ribs so I stuck around); down moments tend to be dull or info-dumpy, or static. I have more tolerance for downtime in books because even those lulls let you explore the characters and the world more fully rather than loll about waiting for the next big explosion.
Running with Concepts: even more dangerous than running with a machete. People develop deep and abiding attachments to books (at least the folks I run with); reading is an investment, hours spent not doing something else (writing, cooking, eating, sleeping). One has to carve the time out of a busy schedule on a regular basis. Books are a fully immersive media. Movies, for me, are not; they feel more voyeuristic than inclusive. I don’t enjoy watching nearly as much as enjoy participating, especially when a world I adore is pared down to its basics (and, see above, often an odd set of basics). I want to see the detail in the brush strokes, the same way I’d rather see a paintaing in a museum than on a computer screen.
The Visceral:
Physical description: I enjoy conjuring character appearances based on the author description myself – guidelines + imagination, writer’s suggestion + audience participation. The translation to screen cements things according to the casting department/directors vision and once it’s out there, you’re sort of stuck with it, if only on a subconscious level. Sometimes, that’s okay: I don’t mind not being able to unsee Martin Freeman as Arthur Dent or Mos Def as Ford Prefect; I DO mind never being able to unsee Alicia Silverstone as Batgirl or Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennett.
The sense the actors haven’t bothered to READ the damn book: even if the adaptation is a conceptual one, it drives me bonkers. I have to study and certify regularly to keep my job so pick up a freakin’ tablet, people. There’s a certain reverence readers have for books they’ve spent show some respect for the time we put in. Do all movies have to be acts of love? No. Absolutely not. Sometimes, things can just explode. Movies derived from books we love? I want to have the feels and I can’t do that when my favorite lines are marching robotically from a perfectly symmetrical face.
Movies don’t smell as good as books. In fact, they very rarely smell. And movie theatres are kind of rank.
Just because. I grew up a reader; my parents have never said no to a book. I am raising my children to be readers. And so it goes.
I used to feel the same way about television that I do about movies – The idea of the American Gods show sent me into repeated hibernation until this latest iteration because in Fuller I Trust. TV has more time for investment, however, over the course of 12 or 24 episodes, time for those lovely down moments and the huge explodey ones, time to build a world and tear it down. Time for us to connect.
You’ll notice the book discussion section of the podcast is typically the longest (though we have been trying to equalize for the sake of symmetry). It’s not that people can’t have ideas about movies or that movies don’t speak to them. I don’t connect with them the same way I connect with books (Luke may feel differently) and, therefore, I typically have less to say (liked it, didn’t, this bugged me, this was sorta cool, wham bam, thanks). I can’t fall asleep with my face in a movie, I can’t hold it and appreciate the weight and the progress I’ve made. I’m not involved enough to really care about the characters in a movie the way I do about the characters in a book. I don’t always have to see the sequel, even if I do care, whereas, if I care about a character in a book, I have to read the next one ASAP (spend $16 to preorder the paperback of Ancillary Sword, for example) BECAUSE I HAVE TO HAVE IT NOW NOW NOW. The next Captain America? I’ll probably see it, but I’m not going to battle a crowd or buy tickets months in advance.
That’s my thought, kids. How about you?
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