adaptations – Idlermag.com

Why the book is better than the movie (With one notable exception)

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 13:00:26 +0000

I have always loved watching TV. Yes, I said loved. I watch far too much and I blame my mother for that. She limited my TV watching when I was a kid. For a while growing up we didn’t even have a TV. (My babysitters were very bored after I went to bed.) I never watched Sesame Street or Fraggle Rock. At my father’s house the television screen was six inches. It wasn’t even a color TV. The only thing I remember watching on it was Star Trek. Once I got into middle school and high school I watched a bit more, but my mom was still there trying to curb my TV time. I would watch TV standing up with my hand on the cable box, ready to hit the power button and scurry off to start my chores the second I heard her car pull in the driveway. Obviously I had to make up for this lack of screen time in my childhood by watching an obscene amount of television (and movies on TV) once I hit adulthood.

Despite my devotion to television — you should see my cable bill — I still love books more. Lately I’ve been trying to figure out why. I think a big part of it is the freedom reading a book gives you. I don’t mean you can travel to new places or whatever the libraries of America try to convince you books can do. I mean that when I read a book I can picture the story unfolding in my head. And just because the author gives a main character blue eyes and fair skin doesn’t mean that’s how he looks to me. I can shorten him a little below the towering height a writer describes. I can ditch the blue eyes and give him brown ones like the boy I had a crush on in grade school. I can picture his smile and his mannerisms. With a movie you get what the casting director wants you to see.

With a book you can slow down and savor well-written passages. You can be surprised that an object mentioned in chapter one has a great deal of importance in the final pages because there wasn’t a slow dramatic camera pan to it. You can create your version of the world the author created.

This is not to say movies are bad or of lower quality than books. They’re an entirely different art form. And I do enjoy watching movies based on books I’ve enjoyed. To stop myself from fussing about all the differences I try to see the movie as a detailed summary of the book. Minor characters are often lost, plot points are condensed, motivations aren’t always fully explained. There’s nothing wrong with this, it’s just what makes the book better. I will always cry harder when a character dies in the book than in the movie.

Sometimes filmmakers try to capture the entire book. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was made into two movies. The Lord of the Rings movies are all over three hours long. George R. R. Martin’s books are a television series on HBO and they still have to skip small details. I know making a book into a film can do wonders for the sales of that book. Finding out a movie I liked is a book often encourages me to read the book. What author wouldn’t love the boost in sales?

The notable exception to this rule is American Psycho (2000). The movie is fantastic, one of my favorites. A few years ago my husband bought the book, assuming that because he liked the movie so much he would enjoy it. I’ve been encouraging him to read more fiction so I proposed that we both read it for a little husband/wife book group. Neither of us made it past 60 pages. It’s awful. Obviously this is just my opinion, but I was shocked at the difference. I know one of the themes is consumerism and the movie touches that nicely. The book hits you over the head. I got tired of reading brand names somewhere around page five. It’s like half the text. And I felt like nothing was happening, the action was too slow, the characters too dull.

I wondered how this could be. Was I missing something? Was the novel better than the first read? I did a little investigating and I learned that Bret Easton Ellis, the author, wants to do a remake of the movie. Then I learned that Bret Easton Ellis is an idiot. He wants a shallow, rich, useless reality star to play Patrick Bateman, a role played impeccably by actor Christian Bale. First of all a remake would do nothing for this movie. Total Recall was remade with a different take on the story; Star Trek was set in an alternate reality. American Psycho was perfection in its first iteration; it needs no reboot. And you don’t need an insipid rich douche in real life to play one on the big screen. That’s the whole reason acting exists. A good actor can play a psychopath without actually being one. It’s actually amazing that Ellis didn’t ruin the movie. He didn’t write the screenplay and it shows. The director saw something in that book of his and polished it until it shown.

I’ve never fully understood that “exception proving the rule” phrase, but I think this nails it. Books and movies are each good in their own way and when they come together in capable hands magic can happen. I think it’s more often the case that a movie does a book a disservice – The Golden Compass movie was a wreck – than the other way around. Both are creative endeavors I will continue to enjoy, I’ll just always enjoys books a little more.

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Kelly Hannon worked in an indie bookstore, is editing her first novel, and blogs about annoying people at www.letterstopeopleihate.com. Follow her on Twitter @KellyMHannon

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Super Mario Bros. (Yes, the movie)

Wed, 05 Dec 2012 14:00:22 +0000

The recent video game film, Wreck-It Ralph (2012), has been called by some “the best video game movie ever made.” On the surface, that sounds like quite the endorsement, but if you dig deeper, such a title doesn’t carry much weight when you look at the rest of the sample in question.

In short, it is almost like calling Rambo III (1988) “the best Rambo-goes-to-Afghanistan movie ever.”

OK, that’s an exaggeration, but not far from the mark.

The original Tron (1982) is perhaps the only other video game film worthy of battling Wreck-It Ralph for the title of “best video game ever,” because let’s be honest — most video game movies ain’t that good.

One would think, with plenty of captivating stories played out on home consoles every day, making a great video game movie would be easy. For some reason it is not.

Why? I don’t know, maybe, unlike Wreck-It Ralph, most video game films don’t embrace their video-gameness. Wreck-It Ralph doesn’t try to be something it is not, which is the Achilles’ heel of most video game films. Resident Evil (2002)? How do you screw up a special forces team fighting zombies in a spooky mansion?

Street Fighter (1994)? That is worthy of its own article. Man, I waited in line on opening night to see that turkey.

And then there is the gold standard of failed video game films: Super Mario Bros. (1993).

I confess to a) seeing Super Mario Bros. in the theater on opening weekend and b) owning the DVD.

Yes, years later, as an adult, I made the conscious decision to own the film.

Is Super Mario Bros. “good”? That depends on what one considers good. Story-wise, no, not really. It’s just strange. Entertainment-wise, yes, because it is so ridiculous. Get some beers, call over your friends, and put on Super Mario Bros. — there is no way you don’t enjoy yourselves.

Plus, Mojo Nixon has a cameo.

Why is Super Mario Bros. so strange? Because it didn’t embrace its video-gameness. The film tries to explain the hows and whys of the Super Mario Bros. universe, which is its biggest mistake — but it is also the reason why it is so hilarious.

Let’s look at the film in a vacuum. If the screenwriters were told “try to explain how this universe with King Koopa and mushroom people could really happen,” they made quite the effort. An asteroid knocking dinosaurs into a parallel dimension, where they evolved into humanoids? OK.

That’s great for an episode of Star Trek or Sliders, but it doesn’t really belong in a movie about Super Mario Bros.

We don’t need realistic explanations for plumbers growing into giants or shooting fireballs at angry turtles as they try to save a princess. People accept The Wizard of Oz or Alice in Wonderland for what it is: fantasy.

And this is how Wreck-It Ralph earned its many praises: it ups the fantasy and doesn’t try to be something it is not. There isn’t any screen time devoted to why the video game characters are “alive.”

They just are, and that is good enough for me.

But, on some level, I am glad Super Mario Bros. tried to be as serious as it is — otherwise, I may not have one of my favorite bad movies to watch with friends.

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Daniel J. Hogan writes humor and draws comics for clattertron.com. You can follow him on Twitter, @danieljhogan.

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The Phantom

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 14:00:53 +0000

Ah, the mid-to-late 1990s.

It was a new Golden Age for the cinema, and 1996 was a banner year: it brought us Barb Wire, Dragonheart, and the Billy Zane superhero film, The Phantom.

I have a soft-spot for The Phantom. Which should not come as a surprise, since my film collection runs the gamut from Seven Samurai and Lawrence of Arabia, to Cabin Boy and Army of Darkness (two more 1990s gems). My fondness for the film stems from Billy Zane — his performance suggests he was enjoying every second of the production.

Sure, Zane’s purple costume is rather laughable in a live-action film, but it works for the Phantom’s universe. It makes sense within its own reality, like how Heath Ledger’s Joker fits the Nolan Batman universe. Look at Xander Drax (Treat Williams) — he’s an over-the-top villain if there ever was one, and he fits the pulpy style of the film like a glove.

And let us not forget Patrick McGoohan as Zane’s Obi-Wan Kenobi-like father, nor a pre-Mask of Zorro Catherine Zeta-Jones as a bad girl air-pirate. Yes. Air-pirate.

The Phantom is a period-piece comic book movie, and that is something special, or at least interesting from a filmmaking stand-point. The Phantom was (at least) the fourth in a line of period-piece comic book films in the 1990s, following Dick Tracy, The Rocketeer, and The Shadow. With the exception of the Rocketeer (created in the 1980s), the other films take place during the time of the comic version’s origin (give or take).

The Phantom comic appeared in 1936, and predates Superman and Batman by only a few years (two and three, respectively). Yet, the modern adaptations of Superman and Batman, those predating and following 1996’s The Phantom, stayed away from the period-piece approach.

I would love to see a period-piece Batman film, although the 1989 Burton film hits close to the mark with its noir style. I would actually be excited to see a Superman movie if it took place in the 1930s (confession: I am not much of a Superman fan). What about Spider-Man in the 1960s? Period-piece comic book films are being made again: Watchmen, X-Men: First Class, and Captain America have all popped up recently (although, save for the first half of X-Men, I can’t really say I enjoyed these three that much).

But, why was The Phantom kept in the 1930s?

There is a fair amount of the supernatural weaving its way through the plot, which might be why it was kept a period-piece (the same goes for The Shadow). That sort of stuff fits a 1930s setting a bit better, perhaps because a film so far in the past is “different” to begin with. A world without TV, the internet, and Bone Thugs-N-Harmony is already alien to a modern audience, so I suppose ghosts and supernatural powers don’t stick out as much. Would Raiders of the Lost Ark been better if it were set in the 1980s? I doubt it (aside from any possible Reagan related humor, that is).

And that also might be why The Phantom was not modernized: The plot and action are very Indiana Jones-like, and by the mid-to-late 90s, 1989’s Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade was a fairly distant memory. It is worth noting that The Phantom and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull share a common plot point: the MacGuffin in each of the films are strange, ancient skulls with magical powers.

But, let’s get back to Billy Zane. He makes this movie.

The Phantom is fun only because Zane is having fun — and it shows. Zane’s casual, tongue-in-cheek approach is endearing, and is a far cry from the super-serious superheroes of today, especially Christian Bale’s Batman. Zane’s Phantom is a guy you want to hang out with as you swap stories over a couple pitchers of beer.

Plus, he punches people while wearing skull rings and has a pet wolf named Devil. What’s not to like? Slam evil!

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Daniel J. Hogan is the geek half of Ginger and the Geek. Follow him on Twitter, @danieljhogan.

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Penelope, still waiting

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 14:00:41 +0000

Hooked by P.D. James’ Death Comes to Pemberley on the idea of reading classics in a new light, I looked for more books where a favorite story of mine had been extended. I had already read a few novels from Darcy’s point of view and none hit the spot. Few authors are talented enough to do him justice. A few months ago I purchased The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood, back when I was determined to read all of her writing before hearing her speak this March at a writers’ conference. This was before I learned how prolific she is (I tend to abandon ambitious projects at the first sign of difficulty). The Penelopiad tells the story of Homer’s Odyssey from the point of view of his wife, Penelope. I read and reread a children’s version of the Odyssey in the comfort of my father’s bedroom, the only air-conditioned room of our old house, when I was about nine and I thought Odysseus was the best hero of them all. I admit I never ventured into reading the Odyssey in its entirety, its one of those works I figured I would get to some day along with The Iliad and Dante’s Inferno. Margaret Atwood has made someday today.

The Odysseus in my mind was a clever man, just trying to get home to his family after the Trojan War. The sea god Poseidon is unjustly punishing him and prevents his ships from reaching the shores of Ithaca where his wife and son have been waiting for twenty years. Of course nine-year-old me was on Odysseus’s side, the man was brave and desperate to be with the ones he loved. Not so from Penelope’s side of the story.

Atwood’s version is told by Penelope after her death, she knows how everything turned out and what she would have done differently if only given the chance. Her twelve hanged maids form the Greek chorus throughout the book, weeping for their lives back and demanding justice. I’m not sure if the children’s version completely left out the killing — I knew Odysseus killed the suitors who had ravaged his home, but not that Penelope’s maids were killed as well — or just glossed over it to get to the happy ending. Either way The Penelopiad is dark from the start.

We see Penelope, cousin to the beautiful Helen and therefore never feeling truly beautiful herself, married off to the sneaky Odysseus and swiftly falling in love with him. He is all she has in Ithaca, removed from her family in Sparta and surrounded by people who don’t care for her, and she cherishes the sweetness that his gives to win her over. The Penelope telling the story knows that he was marrying her for her gold and her youth, something the young Penelope knows as well, just not so deeply. After he leaves to fight in the Trojan War and never comes home she hears stories of his daring battles with a Cyclops and how he tricks goddesses and braves severe storms. This is the Odysseus of my childhood. Atwood swiftly wipes him away. Penelope also hears stories that the Cyclops was just an inn owner Odysseus failed to pay, the Sirens were most likely the occupants of a brothel and he is having his fair share of “goddesses” every night. She doesn’t know whom to believe. And neither do I.

Penelope knows she is the ideal to whom wives the world over are held. She warded off desperate suitors in favor of waiting, nobly, for a husband who people assured her was long dead. She never loved or touched another. Her dangerous plan of using Odysseus’s bow in a final challenge to the suitors just happened to coincide with the return of the one man strong enough to string an arrow. She is tired of this story and longs to set the record straight.

Atwood sets her novel in modern times. Penelope and Helen have been dead for thousands of years. She knows people consider her a myth, her maids nothing but symbols in classes on feminism. She sees her husband continue to leave her for the opportunity to be reincarnated on earth while she continues to wait for his eventual return. Her story is heartbreaking. The Odysseus from my childhood is brought down, clever only for his own advantage, selfish to the point of self-destruction. The Penelopiad haunts me with the idea that Penelope was practically stolen from her family and most definitely abandoned and lied to. Because I never read the Odyssey before seeing it from the woman’s side I may never be able to read it without the distinct feeling that his adventures are just excuses not to be home.

Atwood’s writing is, as always, beautiful and unforgettable. Her Penelope is not an ideal; she’s a woman with enough wits about her to survive through the next challenge. A woman who wants to set the story straight despite knowing that her husband’s version is more powerful and lasting. She feels guilt over the rape and death of her beloved maids and her wonderful son drives her more than a little crazy just like all teenage boys. The retelling is short, Penelope weathers one storm for years while Odysseus has multiple drawn out battles. And who could truly compete with Homer for an epic story anyway? Atwood shows what the other side went through and so turns the classic on its head.

Her research delved into Penelope’s heritage and the possibility of her infidelity to Odysseus. Atwood reminds the reader that Homer’s version, and her version as well, is not the definitive version of Odysseus’ adventures. Myths were originally oral and varied depending on who was doing the telling. She says those hanged maids always haunted her and now they will haunt me as well.

—

Kelly Hannon works in an indie bookstore, is editing her first novel, and blogs about annoying people at www.letterstopeopleihate.com. Follow her on Twitter @LTPIH

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An old favorite in new hands

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 14:00:00 +0000

For me, the mark of a great book is that I don’t want it to end. When the number of pages in my right hand dwindles down to nothing and I just want one more page, one more line so I can stay in the book’s world, I know I’ve found a favorite. Sometimes the author obliges and writes a sequel or spins a minor character off into his or her own story. Sometimes other authors jump in and try their hand at a well-loved fictional world.

Most recently P. D. James has extended the lives of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy in Death Comes to Pemberley. I had wanted to read P. D. James for a while, her covers are beautiful, especially for mysteries, and I was impressed at how long she has been writing (over 50 years, she’s 91). When I saw that her newest mystery would give me another look into the characters of Pride and Prejudice I was hooked. I love a good mystery and it would be nice to read a new book instead of just rereading an old classic, something I think I do too much. I’m a big fan of rereading my favorite books instead of putting the effort into a new book. There is something comforting about knowing what happens next and immersing yourself in characters you have already grown to love. I think this is why so many authors venture into the creations of classic writers. While Ms. James doesn’t need to use Jane Austen’s characters to garner book sales, she knows people will be excited to pick up a book they already know a little bit about. Human beings like to stay in their comfort zone and it’s nothing if not good business sense to take advantage of that fact.

Ms. James did her research; it was obvious that she knew the story of Pride and Prejudice well enough to give the characters rich backstories beyond what Jane Austen showed us in the original novel. James even wrote a small apology to Jane Austen in the beginning of the mystery acknowledging that Ms. Austen would never have dealt with such an unsavory act as murder and begged permission to put her characters into a story that may not have a happy ending. She also painted a detailed picture of the English court system of the 1800s. While her grasp of how the law worked in those days is admirable I found the repetition of the witnesses a little tedious. One of the pluses of reading a book is that when you have already been given information that a character doesn’t know, you can be saved reading it all in detail again. Maybe James gave new small clues in each recounting of the night of the murder, but my brain glazed over a bit and I admit that I started to skim the recitations of the different witnesses.

I also figured out whodunit before I was told, which disappointed me. I’m not one of those people who try to put together all the clues in a mystery and guess at who committed the crime at hand. I prefer to let the author unfold the story in his or her own time and get a surprise at the outcome. In Death Comes to Pemberley, Elizabeth and Darcy’s lives are interrupted (about six years after the end of Pride and Prejudice) the night before a grand ball is to be hosted in their home. Wickham appears to have murdered his good friend Denny during an argument in the woods outside Pemberley. Darcy is forced to deal with Wickham in a way he never planned: Does he hope for a guilty verdict which would wipe Wickham from his life forever or does he hold out for innocence, secure in the knowledge that, while Wickham has done plenty of awful deeds, murder could not be one of them? The insights into Darcy’s thoughts and life hold true to Austen’s work. He is a strong man, beloved by his wife and sister, less inclined to jump to conclusions than he once was.

James weaves in the plot of Pride and Prejudice for those sad few who have yet to read the classic. She gives it a beautiful twist as well, giving those mothers and daughters left behind in Meryton some not-so-nice things to say about the fact that Elizabeth must have married for money alone since she professed such utter distain for her eventual husband. Elizabeth’s friend Charlotte is well thought out too, living in a mediocre marriage and dealing with her husband, Mr. Collins, as one would with an errant puppy. I loved to see how these characters had lived since I met them last. James’ love for Austen is apparent in every phrase. She has extended a beautiful story into something new while respecting the old. I would love to see what other adventures the characters could have in James’ capable hands.

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Kelly Hannon works in an indie bookstore, is editing her first novel, and blogs about annoying people at www.letterstopeopleihate.com. Follow her on Twitter @LTPIH

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Watching the book

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 14:00:20 +0000

This past summer summer my husband and I finally got around to painting our living room. The only way I was going to get any painting done was to distract myself with a massive amount of television. I started episode one of Game of Thrones, cracked open a can of paint and I was hooked. Every time I left the room I paused the show so I didn’t miss a minute. Every time my husband left the room he had to deal with not knowing what happened because I was not going to pause it just so he could smoke or eat or get a bunch of paper towels to sop up the paint I spilled. Ten hours flew by, maybe a little less. Somewhere around episode 5 I started fast-forwarding through the opening credits. HBO really knows how to drag those out, but the show was great. I had to read the books.

The books

The official name of the series is A Song of Ice and Fire, written by George R. R. Martin. Book one, Game of Thrones, is 864 pages and I already knew how it ended. The second book in the series, A Feast for Crows, is 1048 pages and I needed to know what was on those pages. I asked a coworker of mine who had read the book and seen the show if I would really miss anything by skipping book one. He shrugged, indifferent to my plight, and said there would be a lot of details missing, but the show covered all the main plot points. Book two it was.

I bought used copies of the first four books in the series the next day — one of the pluses of running the used book counter at our bookstore is I get first pick of all the cool stuff — set book one aside and devoured book two. It took a week. One week of reading only one book every night. Did I mention 1048 pages? And the font is small. After finishing A Feast for Crows I dove into A Storm of Swords (book three, 1216 pages, they were getting longer), then I took a break.

A few weeks ago a different coworker of mine scolded me for skipping book one. “Kelly, you work in a bookstore! Other people can watch the TV show or the movie instead of reading the book, but not you.” It’s true, sometimes we hold ourselves to a higher standard. We get advance readers copies and read the book before it’s even published. We know when you ask for that Swedish book about the dragon you really want The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. We know that 90% of the time, when you ask where the nonfiction section is you’re looking for memoirs. And we always read the book before it hits the screen.

Ned, gaming, throning.

Except that always reading the book gets old. I like science fiction and fantasy — most of my favorite books come from that section of the store. But I rarely read the giant, epic series. Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series will never be on my list of books to read. It averages out to over 800 pages a book, for 14 books. The man died while writing it and now someone else is finishing it off of his notes. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew George R. R. Martin’s series existed, but it wasn’t on my radar until I watched Sean Bean bring Ned Stark to life.

Is it so bad to go against my bookstore English major upbringing? Not just to read a book because I liked the movie instead of the other way around, but to skip reading the book and assume I got enough from a TV show? I mean, it was ten hours long. And I did buy book one. It’s sitting on my piano ready to be opened and enjoyed. But to be honest, I never planned on reading it. I bought it to give myself the opportunity to read it, to be more convincing when I tell other people that I will read it, but I’m not going to. While I am a huge fan of rereading books, it’s difficult to do sometimes when you know the surprise ending. Plus, that sucker is long. And there are two more books in the series that I haven’t read yet. Book four, A Feast for Crows (1048 pages) and book five, A Dance with Dragons (1016 pages) have been published and two more books are slated for publication. I doubt they’ll be novellas.

This is why I don’t read these epic sci-fi series, they drag on forever and I often forget all the details from the first books that become important in the last books. They intimidate me. By picking up the first book you are committing to the final book. A Wheel of Time was supposed to be six books long, it’s 14. A Song of Ice and Fire looks to be seven books long, but it could be more. With all of those characters in their boiled leather, wielding swords and calling each other Ser it was nice to have real faces to go with the names. The TV show brought me to the books, that can’t be a bad thing.

The way I see it, I’m not skipping one book, I’m reading six. Six great books, each hopefully made into a season on HBO’s Game of Thrones. That way I can watch the new episodes and say things like, “Actually, that’s not how it happened in the book.” I have to do something to keep up my bookstore street cred.

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Kelly Hannon works in an indie bookstore, is editing her first novel, and blogs about annoying people at www.letterstopeopleihate.com. Follow her on Twitter @LTPIH

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Shakespeare with a difference

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 14:00:20 +0000

So as I pointed out last month, there are some great (and some not-so-great) films of Shakespeare’s plays. But sometimes you don’t feel like watching Shakespeare. Sometimes, you want to watch something a bit different. So, for those nights, here are some adaptations that offer Shakespeare with a twist, with a little bit of something for everyone.

Do you want your Shakespeare adaptation —

to be high-brow? Try The King Is Alive, a 2001 film from the Dogme 95 group in which a group of tourists stranded in the Namibian desert decide to stage King Lear.

to be low-brow? Strange Brew is for you. Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas as the cult Canadian duo Bob and Doug McKenzie star in this bizarre and fabulous 1983 adaptation that marries a love of beer and all things Canadian with Hamlet and results in a whole lot of deadpan hilarity.

full of snark? Then you need to join the Mystery Science Theater 3000 crew to watch Maximilian Schell’s 1961 performance as Hamlet in MST3K: Hamlet. As a bonus, this can double as high-brow if you mute it and substitute your own dialogue in suitably Germanic-accented English.

to babysit your children? Two different Romeo and Juliet adaptations are for you: Romeo and Juliet: Sealed with a Kiss (2006) and Gnomeo and Juliet (2011). Why a play about teenage suicide is suitable for the under-8 crowd is beyond me, but apparently it is.

to be about existential angst? You can’t beat Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, Tom Stoppard’s 1990 adaptation of his stage adaptation of Hamlet. On the other hand, if you think the undead are angsty enough, then perhaps Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Undead (2009) is more your cup of tea.

in the form of a western? Then mosey over to Broken Lance, a 1954 adaptation of King Lear starring Spencer Tracy. Or maybe film noir is more your thing? Then try Machete, a 1959 Othello set in Puerto Rico.

to include Charles Mingus and Dave Brubek? You can have that! All Night Long (1962) sets Othello in the jazz world. Not enough music? Try Placido Domingo in Verdi’s Otello, directed by Franco Zeffirelli in 1986.

to feature prisoners? Shakespeare behind Bars is a 2005 documentary about prisoners in Kentucky’s Luther Luckett Correctional Complex putting on a performance of Tempest.

to focus on mid- to late-1990s adaptations of Hamlet? You’ve got two to choose from! Royal Deceit (1994) and Let the Devil Wear Black (1999).

to be violent and bloody? Romeo and Juliet is your friend. Try Tromeo and Juliet (1995), Romeo Must Die (2000), or Rome & Jewel (2008). The first one is from Troma, so mixes some camp in with the gore; the second is Jet Li, so brings home the martial arts; the last is a hip-hop musical that I haven’t seen and am not hugely inclined to.

to be violent and bloody and without all the speechy bits but with the master of horror? Theatre of Blood (1973) stars Vincent Price as an actor who revenges himself on unappreciative critics by murdering them Shakespeare-style. And what could be better Shakespeare than that?!

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Sarah Werner has two sons, at least one job, and too many books to
read. As a result, Netflix Instant is her constant companion. She blogs about books and reading and is
known to a corner of the twitterverse as @wynkenhimself.

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Shakespeare

Wed, 12 Oct 2011 13:01:52 +0000

A confession up front: this post comes close to violating The Idler’s mandate to focus on things we enjoy. In another part of my life, I am a Shakespeare scholar. I write about his plays in performance, I edit volumes about the topic, I used to teach the subject regularly. In other words, Shakespeare is part of my working life, not part of my idle pleasure. Not only that, there’s a lot of Shakespeare that I find tedious. Given my research, I ought to find Shakespeare on film and video interesting, perhaps even enjoyable. But you know what? A lot of it is no fun at all. It’s just boring. It plods along, probably prettily, and much too respectfully.

On the other hand, I gather that there are people who like to watch Shakespeare films, who might even make a point of seeking them out. I’m not sure why they do that. Is it a love of the plays? A sense of highbrow improvement? General curiosity about how a 400-year-old play turns into a movie? Back when Kenneth Branagh was successful, that must have been at the root of it. But I’m here to introduce those people into a different world of Shakespeare. Yes, there’s a bunch of the standard stuff on Netflix. But there’s some great stuff there too, stuff that isn’t boring, isn’t what you expect, that uses Shakespeare to make a movie instead of using a movie to make Shakespeare.

A muddy Kenneth Branagh as Henry V

I like Branagh’s Henry V okay; I like it better when I think about it in terms of the genre of Vietnam movies and what it might tell us about late 1980s attitudes towards leadership and war. That nice meta-moment when the film switches from the sound stage opening to the film itself? That’s nice. And it’s lifted straight from Laurence Olivier’s opening to his Henry V, with its shift from horribly inadequate Renaissance stage to open fields and movie technology. Both, of course, get this from the opening Chorus in Shakespeare’s play, who doubts the ability of the stage to represent the history at hand and so asks the audience to “Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.” In any case, both movies will give you a good sense of the traditional history of Shakespeare on film. And watching them together, if you haven’t done it before, will do much to dispel the myth that filmed Shakespeare needs to somehow be “faithful” to the play. These two versions play off of each other in their differences and you can’t ask for a better demonstration of how every performance of Shakespeare is shaped by the cultural moment that creates it.

Toyah Willcox as Miranda in Jarman’s The Tempest

I like the movies that are unexpected, however. (Never assume that a Shakespeare professor will be more rigid in her adherence to the play than the general public; we are much less bardolatrous than you think.) Try Derek Jarman’s 1979 Tempest for a taste of this. The film isn’t unexpected for what it does to the plot, but how it goes about moving through it. With the punk singer Toyah Willcox as Miranda, radical playwright and poet Heathcote Williams as Prospero, blind dancer Jack Birkett as Caliban, and the island setting replaced with a decaying mansion, Jarman’s movie embodies a disjointed aesthetic that makes the play into something that explores power and the dispossessed in terms both of bondage and creation. I’d never had a chance to see it before I found it on Netflix, and though I meant just to watch the opening scenes to get a taste of it, I watched the whole thing through, never quite sure what was going to happen next. (If you’re still doing the DVD thing, consider watching Jarman’s film of Marlowe’s Edward II. It’s amazing, both for how it uses the play as a jumping off point for an argument for queer politics and for its bare yet glamorous aesthetic.)

Peter Brook’s 1971 King Lear is a different sort of film. It’s professional in a way that Jarman was not interested in, with some truly great actors in the lead roles: primarily Paul Scofield as Lear, but also Irene Worth as Goneril and Cyril Cusack as Albany. Brook himself is one of the most important theatre directors of our age, and an even more outsize influence in Shakespeare productions. So its pedigree puts it in company of all those other pretty and respectful films I find dull. But this is separated from others in its genre by its relentless cruelty. King Lear is a hard play, so much so that it can be difficult to stomach. Everyone’s treatment of everyone else is painful to watch, and their deaths are worse and worse. It’s tempting for productions to play on our sympathy—poor old Lear, such cruel thankless children. And poor pitiful Cordelia, so innocent and poorly used. But this film doesn’t wallow in that sadness, nor shy away from the cruelty of the story. It is as brutal as anything I’ve seen. Right before Lear storms with his 100 men out of Goneril’s home, he turns back to stare at her and she blanches in fear. She’s right to do so: he leads his men in a riot destroying her hall and spits a deeply cruel insult into her face. He doesn’t sustain his range. He knows he will be mad, and the madness comes. There’s no histrionics, no music to compound or assuage our pain. It’s just relentlessly pitiless. The movie is worth watching for Scofield’s performance alone; in combination with Brook’s power, you won’t know what hit you. Alas, it’s only on Netfilx streaming until October 15th, so catch it quick.

There are other notable Shakespeare films streaming right now, but I won’t discuss them in depth. I’m assuming most of you have already seen the Luhrmann Romeo + Juliet (the one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes), but it holds up well and is worth seeing again; play it against the Zeffirelli version to see how times have changed. If you haven’t seen Olivier’s Hamlet, treat yourself to it; there’s a reason it was so influential and why we think of Olivier as such as great actor. Some of my favorites aren’t streaming (Orson Welles’s Othello is astonishing, and Alex Cox’s film of Middleton’s Revengers Tragedy is anarchic and wrenching) but the ones that are available will go a long way to washing that Anonymous drek out of your mouth. Maybe next time I’ll share some of my favorite adaptations, but if you can’t wait that long, I’ll leave you with this: Strange Brew is back!

Shakespeare on Instant Netflix:

As You Like It (1936; dir. Czinner, starring Laurence Olivier)

As You Like It (1992; dir. Christine Edzard)

Hamlet (1948; dir. Olivier)

Hamlet (1990; dir Kevin Kline; Great Performances adaptation of NYSF production)

Henry V (1944; dir. Olivier)

Henry V (1989; dir. Branagh)

King Lear (1971; dir. Peter Brook, with Paul Scofield)—–only until 10/15!!!!

King Lear (1974; dir. Sherrin; live recording of the NYSF production; with James Earl Jones, Raul Julia, Paul Sorvino and Rene Auberjonois.)

King Lear (2008; dir Nunn, with Ian McKellen; based on RSC production)

Macbeth (2006)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1968; dir. Hall; based on RSC production)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1996; based RSC production)–note that the film described on the page is NOT the film that actually streams

Richard III (1995; dir. Loncraine, with Ian McKellen)

Romeo & Juliet (1968; dir. Zeffirelli)

Romeo + Juliet (1996; dir. Luhrmann)

Tempest (1979; dir Jarman)

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Books, brooms, and bad video games

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 13:00:34 +0000

I spent a number of years working in a bookstore in the early 00s, starting shortly after the release of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in 2000. For a character who has appeared in books, films, toys, stickers, a theme park, and who knows what else, it’s always amusing for me to remember that at the time there was no merchandise at all. As the bookstore industry even then was moving to include more of what was called “sidelines” on the sales floor, this disposed us to look on the Harry Potter books fondly and J. K. Rowling as one of us: A book person. We relished the stories of Jo, a single mother, writing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in a coffee shop. We thought of all the money even then that she was turning down by not selling stuffed owls, or plastic broomsticks.

Remember why they took this off the market?

This, of course, all changed with the release of the film version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in 2001. I don’t remember all the details, because I tried not to pay attention, but I’m sure there were Harry Potter Happy Meals as well as the coloring books, posters, picture books, and other movie tie-ins that took over my bookstore. It was the end of a particular innocence that we as bookstore people should probably never have lulled ourselves into. Jo was still clearly a wonderful writer, but she wasn’t just a book person. She wasn’t one of us.

And you know what? None of that matters. The books, the films, the fan art and fiction, all of it is worth every cheap piece of plastic sold with a Harry Potter logo. Harry Potter is better as something more than a book.

I make this assertion with some confidence, having read all the books (I started late, but I caught up fast), seen all the films (except the last one — I’ll get there), and having spent more time buried in Harry Potter lexicons, fan-written stories, and Wikipedia entries than I care to admit.

Which brings me to a rather odd admission: There have been a host of Harry Potter video games — at least one for every film, and even a Quidditch World Cup game in 2003 — and LEGO Harry Potter: Years 1-4 is the only one I’ve ever played. (You can read my final word on that game here, in case you missed it.) As much as I love Harry Potter, I avoid Harry Potter video games like the plague because movie tie-in video games are almost universally terrible.

I actually almost bought this game.

In all honesty, this is a travesty. Adaptations should strengthen great characters and storylines. The plain fact of getting to encounter a character and story in a new form, not to mention all the little (or big) tweaks and changes necessary to make a story work in a different medium all add something to the greater whole. The book changes the way we see the film, and the film changes the way we read the book. Even running around on a cheap plastic broom changes the way we think about a Quidditch match, at least a little bit.

Video games should be a full-fledged part of this cross-media narrative exchange, and the only reason that they are not is that they are produced quickly and rushed to market, almost always constrained by the aesthetic and narrative determinations of the film they rehash. Even thinking of a game as an adaptation in its own right, rather than a marketing and merchandising tool, would be a huge step in the right direction.

Even better would be a game that tells a story of its own, in the universe suggested by but not limited to that created by a book or a film. There are plenty of good examples of this, from the 1998 X-Files PC game, to the recent Spider-Man: Shattered Dimensions and Spider-Man: Edge of Time games. (And, of course, Batman: Arkham Asylum.) The best adaptations tell their own stories, and the Harry Potter theme park in Orlando proves every day that there are large numbers of people who would leap at the opportunity to live in Harry Potter’s world for a while (or longer than a while).

So I’d like to make a suggestion. Who knows? The internet is a big place. Maybe, just maybe, word will get back to Jo herself. We need a new Harry Potter video game. Not one that revisits all the films in one 100+ hour multi-disc game. Not even a Harry Potter MMORPG. (Which would probably sell like gangbusters, and might even be cool, but it’s a little too obvious a place to start.) No, what I want is a game based solely on the Battle of Hogwarts and the preceding year at the school, maybe from Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley’s point of view. I want the story that we didn’t get in the book or the film. I want to get to flesh out two great characters who do really important things even though we don’t see that much of them while Harry, Ron, and Hermione are out camping. I want to direct the defense of the school. I want to cut off Nagini’s head.

You could probably even sell some controllers shaped like Godric Gryffindor’s sword. It would be worth it.

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Gavin Craig is co-editor of The Idler. You can follow him on Twitter at @craiggav.

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My clash at Demonhead

Thu, 27 Jan 2011 14:02:19 +0000

Scott Pilgrim: 23 years old. Rating: Awesome.

When Scott Pilgrim and his precious little life migrated to our purple-mountained land from our neighbor to the north, I slept right through it. I was determined to make up for my lack of fandom once the movie gossip took flight. Michael Cera, you say? Mae Whitman of mayonegg fame? Her? What, is she funny or something? I read the books. I stalked the IMDB site. I developed a serious crush on half-ninja Roxy Richter. I did everything EXCEPT see the film when it hit theaters in August. Admittedly, it was a busy month for me, what with moving across the country and all. But still, I probably had two free hours in there somewhere.

The series consist of six books created by Canadian artist Bryan Lee O’Malley (who has since migrated south to these United States). The books follow Scott, who divides his time between doing nothing and playing music with his band Sex Bob-omb. Scott falls for recent Toronto transplant, Ramona Flowers (she’s American!). Ramona delivers packages on roller blades, has bad ass hair, and a slew of evil exes. [Note: evil exes, not evil ex-boyfriends, Scott.] The books spawned the film, and also, appropriately, a video game.

My love of the Scott Pilgrim series and film surprised me for a few reasons: One. Scott is not particularly likable. My roommate and I talked about it, so I know it’s not just me hating on the dude. He’s clueless and kind of a screw up. It’s endearing if you have a soft spot for disappointment, and like to be the one who pays for everything. Every. Time. Two. I’ve never been smitten with action-adventure comics. Hold on to your tomatoes and stones, people, I am working on broadening my horizons. Three. I never thought I could enjoy a book riffing on the video game format. Much like porn, you’re not playing Call of Duty for the story.

Though Scott Pilgrim definitely has powers, wins battles, and defeats villains, I am hesitant to group this book with superhero comics. For one, Scott isn’t protecting a city or group of people at large from general evil. He’s battling his girlfriend’s guild of evil exes so he can continue dating her. I found his general lack of greater purpose and priorities comforting. Scott didn’t make me feel like I needed to be a better person; he showed me all of the ways in which I do not need to improve at all. I watch Teen Mom for the same reason. Sometimes you need to see how messy your life could actually be and just relax.

Michael Cera as Scott Pilgrim and Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Ramona Flowers

The live-action Scott Pilgrim, Michael Cera, is someone I have adored since the days of Arrested Development. However, by now even I must admit that he pretty much only plays one character. Think about it. Juno: lovesick, loveable, and clueless. Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist: lovesick, loveable, and clueless. I haven’t seen Paper Heart yet, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess lovesick, adorbs, and clueless. I like to think of it as “Adam Sandler Syndrome” or ASS. It’s not that I don’t like the characters he plays, it’s that I’m pretty sure he’s not playing a character at all. George Michael might be all grown up in the upcoming Arrested Development movie but he’s probably still clueless and in love with his cousin.

Here are some things I love about the Scott Pilgrim books and movie (spoiler alert: it’s NOT Ramona Flowers):

Kim Pine’s sass (“Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it. I would punch your life in the face.”)
The very idea of a half ninja.
Everything about Scott’s gay roommate Wallace Wells (Need I say more?)
Knives Chau’s puns. (Yelled during an attack on Ramona: “Get ready to Chau down!”)
Ramona’s goggles and mode of transport. (In no way does this signify a love for Ramona—that girl is selfish.)

For most people I know, life is planned for the first 20-something years: school, school, and more school. And then one day you wake up and college is over, the job offers aren’t rolling in, and you’re getting out of bed at the crack of noon every day, trapped and aimless, trying to decide between starving or moving back in with your parents. After college I looked for a job for a year before finding something worthwhile. That floating year was filled with countless hours at dead end jobs, too much time spent in pajamas, and a general feeling of hopelessness.

Scott Pilgrim levels up

Scott Pilgrim’s world so closely mirrors my own that I can’t help but like it. Scott’s in the same leaky boat as most recent college grads: jobless and vaguely depressed about an economy that tanked before he even got on board. He’s lost and lazy and spends his days hanging out with friends playing video games. Only when Scott’s not dragging his feet, he’s a slacker hero of sorts. He fends off evil exes and levels up. He punches guys through walls, defeats a half-ninja, and earns the power of love. He pulls a flaming sword. Out. Of. His. Chest.

Scott and his friends wax apathetic. It’s cool not to care, and the way to live your life is mostly to not live it. Squander days in bed. Wander without a destination. Work a dead-end job. Watch your bank accounts go negative. Get your heart completely busted by someone who was probably never worth your time in the first place. Spend months malnourished and heartbroken. Fall in love again suddenly and completely. Battle your enemies. Level up. Earn the power of love.

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