Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Another season, another reason
By Edward Copeland
It's a cliche to say, "They don't make 'em like they used to." It's downright depressing when that trite saying is being employed to refer to a film such as The Fabulous Baker Boys that is just marking its 20th anniversary. Has Hollywood really degenerated this much this fast? In 1989, this was a big studio release. Now, we'd be lucky if someone would pick it up as an independent feature. Maybe if the Baker Boys were built out of Legos or transformed into robots.
When I first saw Steve Kloves' film in 1989, while I liked it, I didn't know quite what to think of it because it really was unlike any major studio release I was used to at the time. Here it was though: a film more like a tone poem than a heavily plotted release with Warner Bros. behind it and marquee names such as Sydney Pollack and Paula Weinstein backing a first-time writer-director on a film whose commercial prospects must
have seemed limited. Before Kloves made The Fabulous Baker Boys, his main credit was as the screenwriter of the good but largely forgotten coming-of-age film Racing With the Moon starring Sean Penn, Nicolas Cage and Elizabeth McGovern. Michelle Pfeiffer's star was just beginning to rise, but she couldn't be counted on to lure in audiences. Jeff Bridges was a much respected actor but hardly box office gold and that was even more the case with his co-star, brother Beau. They even dared to allow a film with an open-ended, ambiguous ending. Still, they took the chance and allowed this film to be made and it is one that grows better and better with each viewing, even though I know deep down that if all the planets hadn't been in alignment at the right moment in the late 1980s, this film gem would never have been made. That makes me sad. It also makes me sadder to think of Kloves' career direction. He made another film as writer-director, Flesh and Bone, a mixed bag of a movie most notable for first gaining notice for Gwyneth Paltrow. Since then, he's been purely a screenwriter, albeit a great one, doing a faithful and solid job at adapting Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys and adapting every single Harry Potter book with the exception of The Order of the Phoenix. He got the job because The Fabulous Baker Boys is one of J.K. Rowlings' favorite films. Still, I wish Kloves had the chance to write and direct his own original work again.Still, even if Kloves never directs again, he's left us a great one in The Fabulous Baker Boys where seemingly
every aspect is top notch, from Dave Grusin's moody, jazz-like score which seems in perfect harmony with Michael Ballhaus' cinematography, full of smoke and shadows, almost creating a color noir look to this tale of two piano-playing brothers. You're never quite certain where this film is heading because plot is almost irrelevant, yet Kloves creates a fictional universe with such complete confidence that it's never a concern. Having real-life brothers Jeff and Beau Bridges play Jack and Frank Baker was a brilliant stroke. Not only do the true siblings have a short-hand that only a lifetime of knowing each other could have brought, Baker Boys also gives each of the actors what may well be their finest feature film roles. Most of Beau's best work came on TV after this, but his Frank is memorable as the passive-aggressive control freak, who fancies himself the business brains behind the act and who works to support his wife and kids, even though he knows that his brother is the one with the greater talent. Jack though is the center of the film and Jeff
Bridges is superb as the chain-smoking, borderline alcoholic who hates the redundancy of his life and would rather be playing what he wants instead of the same set for the umpteenth time. He can be cruel and as one character describes him, cold as razorblades, yet he still takes time to be a pseudo-surrogate dad for the young girl who lives upstairs from him and frequently is abandoned by her mother for her frequent boyfriends. Bridges has been great so often in so many films sometimes it's easy to forget about him, but I've never forgotten his Jack Baker. Of course, the third member of this acting team is Pfeiffer as Susie Diamond, the singer the brothers hire when Frank decides that perhaps they need a vocalist to jump-start the act. Pfeiffer's work is both sultry and superb and there's a wisp of sadness when you remember when Pfeiffer was on the rise before she began turning down great roles and appeared to commit career suicide in crap such as I Am Sam. Susie not only revitalizes the act, she creates friction about other changes. When one of Frank's kids get sick and he has to let Jack and Susie perform alone, the two relish the chance to change the playlist. When Frank learns later they skipped "Feelings," an argument ensues over whether the song is filet mignon or parsley. In terms of movies, The Fabulous Baker Boys is most definitely filet. In fact, 1989 may be the most recent year to serve up so many delectable entrees and desserts in the form of movies. From the masterpieces to the solid good times, it truly was an amazing year and The Fabulous Baker Boys is another example of what cinematic magic that movie year managed to bestow as gifts to us who worship films.Tweet
Labels: 80s, Beau Bridges, Chabon, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jeff Bridges, Movie Tributes, Nicolas Cage, Pfeiffer, Sean Penn, Sydney Pollack
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon
By Edward Copeland
There's always something astounding about "discovering" a new, talented writer, but that's how I felt when I first read Michael Chabon upon the publication of Wonder Boys. Every page seemed to have a wonderful turn of phrase or plot development that left me giddy with awe. Here was an author somewhat close to my age, who showed promise as being able to stand on the same high plane with my other literary idols such as John Updike or Philip Roth. Hell, Chabon even seemed to manage to be both a great prose stylist and a great storyteller, an imagined fusion in my mind — Updike Roth, if you will.
Wonder Boys prompted me to seek out his first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, which I loved nearly as much. Then came the long wait until his next one, the Pulitzer Prize-winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, another great effort from the rising star of the young literati. However, then things started to dry up a bit. He penned a child-like fantasy novel called Summerland and a short Sherlock Holmes-type riff titled The Final Solution: A Story of Detection. While I enjoyed both of them well enough, they didn't sate my longing for a full-fledged Chabon masterwork. Thankfully, that wait has ended with the publication of The Yiddish Policemen's Union.
The above passage is just one of the many sprinkled throughout The Yiddish Policemen's Union that left me in awe in much the same way certain Updike passages can do. While I don't think it's quite up to the level of his first three novels (Wonder Boys remains my favorite), the new book displays yet another example of Chabon trying something new without sacrificing the gifts that made me worship him in the first place.
The premise of The Yiddish Policemen's Union truly is an imaginative one. In this novel's world, the state of Israel never took off in 1948 and Jews were forced once again to flee their homeland, this time for a most unusual promised land: the Sitka District of Alaska, formed before Alaska was even officially part of the United States. The haven came with a catch: the Jews would only have the land for 60 years and the lease is about to expire, a process known as "Reversion."
That premise alone would provide for a fascinating alternate universe, but it's just the setting for what essentially is a murder mystery. The lead gumshoe is a down-on-his-luck homicide detective named Meyer Landsman, irreligious and broken in terms of his career and his personal life. In fact, the slaying occurs in the seedy motel he's currently calling home. The victim turns out to be a former chess prodigy hiding under an assumed name, the troubled son of an important rabbi.
To tell much more would spoil the unfolding of the plot, which shows that this killing cuts deeper than your run-of-the-mill murder. Still, the mystery isn't what drives The Yiddish Policemen's Union to near greatness: It's Chabon's style and ingenuity. He uses what could be just a fictional flight-of-fancy and weaves a tapestry that simultaneously pays homage to detective lore and historical fiction, creating something unique and fulfilling. Chabon truly is back and lovers of novels should be grateful.
Tweet
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
There's always something astounding about "discovering" a new, talented writer, but that's how I felt when I first read Michael Chabon upon the publication of Wonder Boys. Every page seemed to have a wonderful turn of phrase or plot development that left me giddy with awe. Here was an author somewhat close to my age, who showed promise as being able to stand on the same high plane with my other literary idols such as John Updike or Philip Roth. Hell, Chabon even seemed to manage to be both a great prose stylist and a great storyteller, an imagined fusion in my mind — Updike Roth, if you will.
Wonder Boys prompted me to seek out his first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, which I loved nearly as much. Then came the long wait until his next one, the Pulitzer Prize-winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, another great effort from the rising star of the young literati. However, then things started to dry up a bit. He penned a child-like fantasy novel called Summerland and a short Sherlock Holmes-type riff titled The Final Solution: A Story of Detection. While I enjoyed both of them well enough, they didn't sate my longing for a full-fledged Chabon masterwork. Thankfully, that wait has ended with the publication of The Yiddish Policemen's Union.
Rabbi Heskel Shpilman is a deformed mountain, a giant ruined dessert, a cartoon house with the windows shut and the skin left running. A little kid lumped him together, a mob of kids, blind orphans who never laid eyes on a man. They clumped the dough of his arms and legs to the dough of his body, then jammed his head down on top. A millionaire could cover a Rolls-Royce with the fine black silk-and-velvet expanse of the rebbe's frock coat and trousers. It would required the brain strength of the eighteen greatest sages in history to reason through the arguments against and in favor of the deep, a man-made structure, or an unavoidable act of God. If he stands up, or if he sits down, it doesn't make any difference in what you see.
The above passage is just one of the many sprinkled throughout The Yiddish Policemen's Union that left me in awe in much the same way certain Updike passages can do. While I don't think it's quite up to the level of his first three novels (Wonder Boys remains my favorite), the new book displays yet another example of Chabon trying something new without sacrificing the gifts that made me worship him in the first place.
The premise of The Yiddish Policemen's Union truly is an imaginative one. In this novel's world, the state of Israel never took off in 1948 and Jews were forced once again to flee their homeland, this time for a most unusual promised land: the Sitka District of Alaska, formed before Alaska was even officially part of the United States. The haven came with a catch: the Jews would only have the land for 60 years and the lease is about to expire, a process known as "Reversion."
That premise alone would provide for a fascinating alternate universe, but it's just the setting for what essentially is a murder mystery. The lead gumshoe is a down-on-his-luck homicide detective named Meyer Landsman, irreligious and broken in terms of his career and his personal life. In fact, the slaying occurs in the seedy motel he's currently calling home. The victim turns out to be a former chess prodigy hiding under an assumed name, the troubled son of an important rabbi.
To tell much more would spoil the unfolding of the plot, which shows that this killing cuts deeper than your run-of-the-mill murder. Still, the mystery isn't what drives The Yiddish Policemen's Union to near greatness: It's Chabon's style and ingenuity. He uses what could be just a fictional flight-of-fancy and weaves a tapestry that simultaneously pays homage to detective lore and historical fiction, creating something unique and fulfilling. Chabon truly is back and lovers of novels should be grateful.
Tweet
Labels: Books, Chabon, Fiction, Roth, Updike
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Nails on a chalkboard
Everybody has them, whether they admit it or not: Actors and actresses whose mere presence set your teeth on edge because something about them, whether logical or illogical, whether you think they just suck or whether there is something more intangible. (NOTE: I just included the above photo of Robert Shaw from Jaws to illustrate the title, not to reflect an opinion of him, whom I like a great deal). Of course, they often spark fierce debates as proponents of one actress duel with her opponents and vice versa, so I figured the time was ripe to discuss this in more depth. Yes, I am going to bash on Danny Huston some more. You've been warned.
Since Huston currently occupies the top spot among actors who set my teeth on edge because I don't think he can act. At his best, he's a nonentity who doesn't
harm a movie much, at his worse (think John Sayles' Silver City), he can destroy an entire film. Silver City might not have worked with anyone in Huston's role, but he certainly didn't help. His scenes in Birth, an embarrassing excuse of a movie to begin with, are even more cringe-inducing. When he goes after the kid, his acting is so atrocious, it reminded me of those worst Kevin Costner moments when his limited ability to express emotion catapults you out of any movie he's in. I know people who are convinced that I'm wrong about Huston, so I decided I'd start sleuthing the only way I could think of, namely perusing critics' comments on his work. To my surprise, no matter what film or what critic I looked up, most of the time, Huston barely gets any mention, negative or positive, beyond a sentence telling the role he plays in the film in question. It seems to back up my theory: He's so uncharismatic that he leaves no impression at all most of the time. Not many people say he's bad because most people suffer amnesia when it comes to remembering he was even in any given movie to begin with. It was a bit of disappointment: I wanted to find some nice slams but not much is written about him at all except in reviews of The Proposition, which I admittedly gave up on before he even showed up.Speaking of Kevin Costner, he's a more unusual case. When he first came to my attention in The Untouchables, I thought he was bland and milquetoast but the
film itself was so much fun and everyone else made up for his weaknesses, that I didn't think about him much. Though admittedly, Wagstaff and I used to have a running gag about that hysterical Sean Connery death scene where Costner's Eliot Ness keeps asking the poor dying man what he wants, picking up item after item off the apartment floor. Then Costner did some really smart things. First, he got cast in Bull Durham. My argument has always been that you could take just about anyone off the street, give them Ron Shelton's lines to read, and they'd probably come off as well as Costner did, but at least he did summon charisma and again surrounded himself with great actors such as Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins. He followed this strategy again the next year with Field of Dreams, where the strong script and great cast covered up his lack of acting prowess. Then, however, Costner got careless. Revenge was the first sign. Despite his Oscars for Dances With Wolves, it was clear to me how bad he was in it. Imagine an actor with talent playing that part. Did anyone really believe he was suicidal in the film's opening sequences? Then came the horrors of Robin Hood and his first in repeated bad attempts to do other accents. The spell was broken and I couldn't not see how bad he was, even in movies I might otherwise like such as Oliver Stone's JFK, with another bad accent and really laughable "reaction" shots. Watch him when he learns Robert Kennedy has been killed and try not to giggle. Then, as if he hadn't inflicted enough damage on his career, came Waterworld and The Postman. (One of my favorite all-time Simpsons gags: the DVD commentary for The Postman which consisted of Costner on a split screen just repeatedly saying, "I'm sorry.")I imagine someday if there is some kind of reference source that explains the origin of the phrase "nails on a chalkboard," the photo that accompanies it will be
one of Lori Petty. Unlike Huston (or Costner), I've never found anyone who defends this freak who can make any movie she's in unbearable. Even the watchable A League of Their Own was undermined by her casting as Geena Davis' sister. She's so annoying in it, who has any sympathy for her complaints? In fact, more likely they are hoping a drunken Tom Hanks will go out and bash her head in with a baseball bat so she shuts up. He may think that there's not supposed to be crying in baseball, but there really shouldn't be acting this bad in movies about baseball either. For that matter, movies about killer whales, Army comedies, comic hostage situations in car dealerships and anything else Petty has appeared in. The last time I saw her she was ruining a short commercial for horse racing in the Tri-State area. I haven't checked, did she destroy pari-mutuel betting as we know it from people afraid she'd be at the track?
Picking on Shore is almost too easy, but when I actually found online a photo of the movie scene that scarred me for life from Bio-Dome with Stephen Baldwin chewing off Shore's toenails, I knew he must be included. Besides, he co-starred with the aforementioned Lori Petty in In the Army Now, so it seemed a natural segue. Of course, why kick a freak when he's down? I know why: Because I can. There was a time when people inexplicably enjoyed this moron who managed to make buddy into a five-syllable word. Of course, his time mercifully passed and other savvier film killers such as Adam Sandler sprang to prominence (and as bad as Sandler is when he does one of his patented annoying characters such as in The Waterboy or Little Nicky, he's even more insufferable when he tries to turn "serious" in things such as Punch Drunk Love or Spanglish. Thankfully, I think he may be subsiding as well. At least I can hope so.
In an appearance on one of the Oscar broadcasts in the 1980s, Liberace said, "I've done my part for movies — I've stopped making them." Thankfully, Kate Capshaw
has pretty much done that as well. Hell, if you're married to Steven Spielberg and can't act your way out of — well, anything — why keep working and making the rest of us suffer? She ruined Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (though I can't prove that it would have worked with an actress playing her role either), although I admit I would have liked it better if Mola Ram had pulled her heart out when she was on the sacrificial altar. Capshaw gave an impressive list of awful performances in movies that were sometimes even worse such as Spacecamp, My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys and Black Rain. Still, my favorite Capshaw story always will be her work on the late soap opera Edge of Night. She was hired to play a character who only had six months to live — but she was so awful they fired her almost immediately because they couldn't handle her stinking up the screen for even that short a period of time. Stay at home Kate. Even your husband has been wise enough not to cast you in any of his movies since you snared him away from Amy Irving on Temple of Doom.
Now, there is hope for some of these performers who grate on me (well, maybe not for Lori Petty) and Douglas is evidence of that. As Josh R wrote in an earlier post Is Michael Douglas a male chauvinist pig?, for most of his acting career, I just found Douglas to be intrinsically unlikable in just about anything he made. No matter whether his character was the "victim" or not, I found myself rooting against him in
movies such as Falling Down, Disclosure and Fatal Attraction. He even teamed with another acting demon on this list, Kate Capshaw, in Black Rain, where he played a horrendous American cop in Japan. When his partner Andy Garcia got killed, I lamented in my review that the wrong officer got killed since that meant Douglas would stick around. The only time I found that my resistance to him worked was in War of the Roses, where it helped that he was a bastard. However, Douglas managed to turn me around with his great portrayal of Grady Tripp in the adaptation of Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys. Not only did Douglas give his best performance, I went from periodically railing against his Oscar win for best actor for Wall Street to railing against his snub for Wonder Boys. So, there is hope for getting off my shitlist.
Another example of someone who won me over is Kim Cattrall. She was just awful in films ranging from Big Trouble in Little China to Bonfire of the Vanities. She even sucked in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, where she was assigned the task of playing a Vulcan, who presumably should show no emotions and she couldn't even pull that off. In fact, for a long time I even offered a theory that any actor with the initials K.C. must suck (Kevin Costner, Kirk Cameron, Kate Capshaw, Kim Cattrall. Only Keith Carradine seemed to be a possible exception, unless you saw him in The Ties That Bind). Then came HBO's Sex and the
City and Cattrall's role of Samantha. My dislike of Cattrall made me avoid the show for a long time for fear that I couldn't possibly like it with her in it. However, I eventually caught up and she proved me wrong. Perhaps it was a case of the perfect merging of an actress and a role, but Cattrall was great as Samantha. Now, I haven't seen her in anything since Sex and the City (I missed that Britney Spears movie. Damn!) Maybe Cattrall will revert to being on my list of actors who grate on me, but for now I'll give her the benefit of the doubt because as Samantha she was damn good.Tweet
Labels: Chabon, Connery, Costner, Geena Davis, Hanks, HBO, K. Carradine, M. Douglas, Oliver Stone, Sayles, Spielberg, Susan Sarandon, The Simpsons, Tim Robbins
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The age-old argument: Which is better — the book or the movie?
By Edward Copeland
Of course, the answer is that there is no set answer every situation is different. Sometimes movies completely blow the book, other times the movies are much better than the book. In rare instances, there seems to be a draw, where they seem to be perfect companions. I also wonder if the order one reads/sees them matter. If you read the book, then see the movie or vice versa, does that color your reactions? Of course, I've seen a lot more movies than I've read books, so I'm just choosing some where I've read the book and seen the movie and indicate which function came first. There is no set order. I'm also tossing in plays and/or musicals that became movies.
I read Larry McMurtry's Terms of Endearment after I had seen the movie and fallen in love with it. In this case, I think I would have preferred the movie to the book in either order. By creating Garrett Breedlove, James L. Brooks gives the character of Aurora Greenway a focus she lacks in the novel with her many suitors, even though they are still a minor presence in the movie.
I read the play Amadeus after the movie and once again, the movie to me seems much better. There is something wooden in some of the scenes in the play, at least for me, but perhaps that would have been different if I'd actually seen a performance of it.
In the case of On Golden Pond, I read the play second and, except for the scenes out on the lake when they are fishing, really both scripts are nearly identical. Again, I guess my preference leaned to the movie because I saw it fleshed out.
I have an interesting experience with Neil Simon's The Sunshine Boys. First, I saw the movie, then in junior high I read the play and performed a duet from it, shamelessly ripping off Walter Matthau. Finally, a few years ago, I saw a revival on Broadway with Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. My final conclusion: It's all about the performers. No matter whether it's read or watched, it is rather thin.
One other case which I'm sure I'll get a lot of arguments about is Cabaret. I've never been a fan of Bob Fosse's movie, but when I got a chance to see the Broadway revival with Alan Cumming and Natasha Richardson, it became all the clearer to me that the musical was stronger on stage than on screen. I had a similar reaction to Chicago, though I saw the revival first and still enjoyed the movie.
Short Cuts is an unusual case as well. I had read nearly all of Raymond Carver's short stories that inspired the film before seeing the movie, but Robert Altman's mixing and matching of them make it seem like an experience completely separate from its written source. Only "A Small, Good Thing," played out in the movie by Andie MacDowell, Bruce Davison and Lyle Lovett, sticks fairly close to the story that inspired it.
I read Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence knowing that Martin Scorsese was working on a film version. Once the movie opened, I was amazed — this may well be the most faithful adaptation of a novel I've ever seen. There are very few changes, the trimming seems minimal and he even keeps much of the wonderful prose through Joanne Woodward's narration. In contrast, I saw the movie Casino before I read the book. I was disappointed in the movie and the book was much stronger — and it showed that the movie was made before the book was finished.
In 1999, I fell in love with Fight Club, but it was years later before I actually read the novel it was based on. It is good, but even though the twist was spoiled for me before I saw the movie and didn't affect my enjoyment of it, it did seem to affect my opinion of the book.
Curtis Hanson's adaptation of Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys is another example of a fairly faithful movie version. I had read the book first and loved it and the movie didn't disappoint, even allowing me to like a Michael Douglas performance — a rarity for me.
Ghost World was probably the first case of a movie I saw that had been based on a graphic novel I'd read. While Daniel Clowes' graphic novel is great and the movie follows pretty much the same story arc, the introduction of the Steve Buscemi character in the film functions much like Jack Nicholson's character in Terms of Endearment — it makes the movie a superior work.
Now for examples where I think it really made a notable difference.
I read Peter Benchley's Jaws after seeing Steven Spielberg's great film — and I don't think there can be any argument that Spielberg improved the material, taking a fairly trashy read and turning into so much more.
Much the same can be said of Mario Puzo's The Godfather. While in some respects, the novel isn't as bad as Jaws, in others, its tawdry nature borders on the juvenile. Francis Ford Coppola truly raised the film to a higher level.
When I saw The Prince of Tides, aside from Streisand's obvious massive ego, I thought the movie worked fairly well — then I read Pat Conroy's novel and realized what a mess had been made of his work.
Of course, the most notorious example of the destruction of a great novel by its movie version is Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities. Anyone who read the novel before seeing the film would have to be appalled by the ludicrous changes made for Brian De Palma's movie version. From changing a Jewish judge to an African-American one (named Judge White of all things), to dropping the British heritage of the tabloid reporter to nearly every casting decision — nothing was changed for the better. I can't imagine anyone would want to read the novel if they saw this monstrosity first.
To wrap up, since I could go on and on and I want others to get involved here, I thought it would be worth going through the Stephen King adaptations that I'd read before seeing the movie versions. The only exception is Carrie, which I read after seeing the movie. I'm also leaving out TV versions.
BOOK: Carrie
MOVIE:Carrie
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: The Shining
MOVIE:The Shining
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: The Dead Zone
MOVIE: The Dead Zone
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: Firestarter
MOVIE: Firestarter
VERDICT: Novel — by far — and it's not that good
BOOK: Cujo
MOVIE: Cujo
VERDICT: Both suck
BOOK: Pet Sematary
MOVIE: Pet Sematary
VERDICT: Novel
BOOK: Christine
MOVIE: Christine
VERDICT: Draw
BOOK: Misery
MOVIE: Misery
VERDICT: Novel
STORY: Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption
MOVIE: The Shawshank Redemption
VERDICT: Movie
STORY: The Body
MOVIE:Stand By Me
VERDICT: Movie
STORY: Apt Pupil
MOVIE: Apt Pupil
VERDICT: Draw — not a big fan of either
NOVELLA: The Running Man
MOVIE: The Running Man
VERDICT: Movie
Tweet
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Of course, the answer is that there is no set answer every situation is different. Sometimes movies completely blow the book, other times the movies are much better than the book. In rare instances, there seems to be a draw, where they seem to be perfect companions. I also wonder if the order one reads/sees them matter. If you read the book, then see the movie or vice versa, does that color your reactions? Of course, I've seen a lot more movies than I've read books, so I'm just choosing some where I've read the book and seen the movie and indicate which function came first. There is no set order. I'm also tossing in plays and/or musicals that became movies.
I read Larry McMurtry's Terms of Endearment after I had seen the movie and fallen in love with it. In this case, I think I would have preferred the movie to the book in either order. By creating Garrett Breedlove, James L. Brooks gives the character of Aurora Greenway a focus she lacks in the novel with her many suitors, even though they are still a minor presence in the movie.
I read the play Amadeus after the movie and once again, the movie to me seems much better. There is something wooden in some of the scenes in the play, at least for me, but perhaps that would have been different if I'd actually seen a performance of it.
In the case of On Golden Pond, I read the play second and, except for the scenes out on the lake when they are fishing, really both scripts are nearly identical. Again, I guess my preference leaned to the movie because I saw it fleshed out.
I have an interesting experience with Neil Simon's The Sunshine Boys. First, I saw the movie, then in junior high I read the play and performed a duet from it, shamelessly ripping off Walter Matthau. Finally, a few years ago, I saw a revival on Broadway with Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. My final conclusion: It's all about the performers. No matter whether it's read or watched, it is rather thin.
One other case which I'm sure I'll get a lot of arguments about is Cabaret. I've never been a fan of Bob Fosse's movie, but when I got a chance to see the Broadway revival with Alan Cumming and Natasha Richardson, it became all the clearer to me that the musical was stronger on stage than on screen. I had a similar reaction to Chicago, though I saw the revival first and still enjoyed the movie.
Short Cuts is an unusual case as well. I had read nearly all of Raymond Carver's short stories that inspired the film before seeing the movie, but Robert Altman's mixing and matching of them make it seem like an experience completely separate from its written source. Only "A Small, Good Thing," played out in the movie by Andie MacDowell, Bruce Davison and Lyle Lovett, sticks fairly close to the story that inspired it.
I read Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence knowing that Martin Scorsese was working on a film version. Once the movie opened, I was amazed — this may well be the most faithful adaptation of a novel I've ever seen. There are very few changes, the trimming seems minimal and he even keeps much of the wonderful prose through Joanne Woodward's narration. In contrast, I saw the movie Casino before I read the book. I was disappointed in the movie and the book was much stronger — and it showed that the movie was made before the book was finished.
In 1999, I fell in love with Fight Club, but it was years later before I actually read the novel it was based on. It is good, but even though the twist was spoiled for me before I saw the movie and didn't affect my enjoyment of it, it did seem to affect my opinion of the book.
Curtis Hanson's adaptation of Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys is another example of a fairly faithful movie version. I had read the book first and loved it and the movie didn't disappoint, even allowing me to like a Michael Douglas performance — a rarity for me.
Ghost World was probably the first case of a movie I saw that had been based on a graphic novel I'd read. While Daniel Clowes' graphic novel is great and the movie follows pretty much the same story arc, the introduction of the Steve Buscemi character in the film functions much like Jack Nicholson's character in Terms of Endearment — it makes the movie a superior work.
Now for examples where I think it really made a notable difference.
I read Peter Benchley's Jaws after seeing Steven Spielberg's great film — and I don't think there can be any argument that Spielberg improved the material, taking a fairly trashy read and turning into so much more.
Much the same can be said of Mario Puzo's The Godfather. While in some respects, the novel isn't as bad as Jaws, in others, its tawdry nature borders on the juvenile. Francis Ford Coppola truly raised the film to a higher level.
When I saw The Prince of Tides, aside from Streisand's obvious massive ego, I thought the movie worked fairly well — then I read Pat Conroy's novel and realized what a mess had been made of his work.
Of course, the most notorious example of the destruction of a great novel by its movie version is Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities. Anyone who read the novel before seeing the film would have to be appalled by the ludicrous changes made for Brian De Palma's movie version. From changing a Jewish judge to an African-American one (named Judge White of all things), to dropping the British heritage of the tabloid reporter to nearly every casting decision — nothing was changed for the better. I can't imagine anyone would want to read the novel if they saw this monstrosity first.
To wrap up, since I could go on and on and I want others to get involved here, I thought it would be worth going through the Stephen King adaptations that I'd read before seeing the movie versions. The only exception is Carrie, which I read after seeing the movie. I'm also leaving out TV versions.
BOOK: Carrie
MOVIE:Carrie
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: The Shining
MOVIE:The Shining
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: The Dead Zone
MOVIE: The Dead Zone
VERDICT: Novel wins
BOOK: Firestarter
MOVIE: Firestarter
VERDICT: Novel — by far — and it's not that good
BOOK: Cujo
MOVIE: Cujo
VERDICT: Both suck
BOOK: Pet Sematary
MOVIE: Pet Sematary
VERDICT: Novel
BOOK: Christine
MOVIE: Christine
VERDICT: Draw
BOOK: Misery
MOVIE: Misery
VERDICT: Novel
STORY: Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption
MOVIE: The Shawshank Redemption
VERDICT: Movie
STORY: The Body
MOVIE:Stand By Me
VERDICT: Movie
STORY: Apt Pupil
MOVIE: Apt Pupil
VERDICT: Draw — not a big fan of either
NOVELLA: The Running Man
MOVIE: The Running Man
VERDICT: Movie
Tweet
Labels: Altman, Books, Buscemi, Chabon, Coppola, De Palma, Fosse, M. Douglas, Matthau, Neil Simon, Nicholson, Scorsese, Spielberg, Streisand
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Saturday, December 24, 2005
From the Vault: Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon
A ripple of electricity tiptoes across a reader's neck when he or she comes across a previously unknown writer whose prose emphatically announces a new, impressive talent.
Though Michael Chabon wrote the novel The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and A Model World, a collection of short stories, I wasn't aware of him until Wonder Boys. Reading the 31-year-old's novel was a revelation.
Wonder Boys takes place entirely during a literary festival held on a weekend at a small Pittsburgh college. One of the chief organizers of the festival is Grady Tripp, a burned-out professor who is losing a struggle with the gargantuan manuscript that is supposed to become his next novel.
Attending the same weekend is Grady's agent, Terry Crabtree, who has accompanied Grady on many a misadventure, and soon finds himself involved in another through the acts of a writing student named James Leer, who is obsessed with Hollywood suicides.
The plot itself is entertaining, but what's dazzling about Wonder Boys is Chabon's writing, which offers at least one phrase, one sentence, one description that makes the reader's jaw drop in awe, admiration or envy on nearly every page.
Wonder Boys earns Chabon the right to be mentioned in the same breath as John Updike, but Chabon's presence is even more exciting, given his age. As for now, he stands alone as the only novelist promising to be one of his generation's greatest writers.
Tweet
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Though Michael Chabon wrote the novel The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and A Model World, a collection of short stories, I wasn't aware of him until Wonder Boys. Reading the 31-year-old's novel was a revelation.
Wonder Boys takes place entirely during a literary festival held on a weekend at a small Pittsburgh college. One of the chief organizers of the festival is Grady Tripp, a burned-out professor who is losing a struggle with the gargantuan manuscript that is supposed to become his next novel.
Attending the same weekend is Grady's agent, Terry Crabtree, who has accompanied Grady on many a misadventure, and soon finds himself involved in another through the acts of a writing student named James Leer, who is obsessed with Hollywood suicides.
The plot itself is entertaining, but what's dazzling about Wonder Boys is Chabon's writing, which offers at least one phrase, one sentence, one description that makes the reader's jaw drop in awe, admiration or envy on nearly every page.
Wonder Boys earns Chabon the right to be mentioned in the same breath as John Updike, but Chabon's presence is even more exciting, given his age. As for now, he stands alone as the only novelist promising to be one of his generation's greatest writers.
Tweet
Labels: Books, Chabon, Fiction, Updike
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
