I might well be coming off like some kind of Bridget Jones here, but I’m a bit of a fat bastard. I don’t exactly belong in a freak show, but more than one chin is too many, you know? During a recent home movie shot by my parents there is a shot of me sitting in our garden and I look like the king of the toads. Big belly, bulbous chin. Basically, a chubby cunt.
Back when I worked in retail, I was a little overweight, but with a stock room up a flight of stairs and delivery bay down a flight of stairs and a frequently broken lift, I was pretty active, almost every day. Often I would work until 11pm, skipping the evening meal. On the run-up to Christmas I would do 80-hour weeks. About six years ago, the company I worked for went under and, as I had just got married, I scrabbled to get a job as quickly as possible. I’ve worked in offices ever since, and the large amount of sitting I do has seen me chub up.
This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this, and some time ago I started Operation Don’t Die, figuring if I lost some weight and became a little more active, I might live to see my kids turn 30. To be honest, ODD has so far turned out to be less than successful, the biggest piece of evidence for this being the fact that I am still a fat twat. So, I figured if I made ODD a part of this blog, in the public eye, so to speak, it might pressure me to make more of an effort. Never know – worth a try, right?
Last time it involved eating half the number of sandwiches at lunch, replacing fat crisps with French Fries, and reducing the amount of wine, bread, and general crap I stuff down my gob. Along with that, there was an increase in the amount of walking I do and even going swimming on Monday and Tuesday lunch times. It kind of worked, for a while. Too much work meant the swimming was soon sacrificed, but I have no choice but to keep up the brisk walking, only having one car and a wife who works miles away. Of course, that’s probably not enough, but, if you’ll indulge a cliché, we all have to start somewhere. I’ll let you know how I get on. Whether you want me to or not.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
“But they changed it.”
It’s all about the difference. The difference between a book and a movie. Sometimes when a book is adapted into a film I can get annoyed. Sometimes I get annoyed at other people who insist every last detail of the book they love should remain intact. Books can do great things. They can give you a character that is, in a way, uniquely yours, since how you interpret that character; the way they look, the way they sound, the way they walk and a load of other things is in your head. In someone else’s head it will be a little different. Sure, there are descriptions, but they often merely inform how a character is in your head, rather than acting as a complete immutable definition. The same goes for landscapes, architecture and many other things.
Films do something different. They show you, definitively, what that character looks like, how they sound, how they move, what that location looks like, or the internal layout of that building. Books allow you the freedom to create your own picture in your imagination. Films are more visual. They tell you what that picture looks like. There are other differences. Books often give you an insight into the innermost thoughts of a character. They can present an internal dialogue to tell you what the character thinks, and their motivation for their actions. Films give you a chance to apply your own take to the internal workings of character’s minds, using clues given by the actor’s performance.
What this boils down to is that they are very different ways to tell a story. When a book is adapted into a film, it is impossible not to account for this. There are, however, right and wrong ways to do this. If you understand the differences between the two, you could change a myriad of things, even the ending, and still adapt a book successfully. One example: Stardust. Neil Gaiman’s original story has quite a melancholic ending, which suits the story rather wonderfully. Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman’s film version retains much that made Gaiman’s original such a joy, but it is mostly lighter in tone, and a brighter happier ending suits it better.
For the screen, stories generally have to be simplified or changed in some way to make them more accessible to a wider audience. That’s not an insult to film, it is a simple and obvious (to most people) truth. Examples? Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and Jurassic Park to name just three. Occasionally, the changes made vastly improve on the source material (The Godfather, The Shining.) Sometimes a valiant attempt is made that just doesn’t come together (The Lovely Bones, Dune.) Sometimes, the changes undermine everything about it and nothing can help it to recover (step forward, The Golden Compass.) Some would argue Watchmen falls into this category, but I’ve neither seen nor read it, and have heard too many differences of opinion to be convinced either way.
By now, you’re probably wondering what the point of this entry is (none – have you not read this blog before?). Over the years, I’ve had many a conversation, debate and argument of the merits of films, books and the differences between them. Since this blog is a bit of a sounding board for me to make my thoughts and opinions known (or at the very least, to allow me to organise them), what better place for me to air this opinion? The two franchises that come up the most in these debates with both friends and colleagues are Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings (infer what that says about me and the people I converse with what you will). I would always find myself in defence of the film versions. Potter, under the guidance of author J. K. Rowling, trims the unnecessary sub plots to squeeze the plots into the running times. Seeing as the decisions are largely made or approved by the original architect of the series, the changes are fairly easy to justify.
Rings, on the other hand, is very different. The original author is dead. Only one person on the entire production ever met him (Christopher Lee). Some major changes have been made. Frodo is much younger. The Scouring of the Shire and Tom Bombadil are cut completely. Elves join the humans at Helm’s Deep. Faramir has a very different arc, taking Frodo and Sam to Osgiliath. This has annoyed a great many people. Every change, in my opinion, is justifiable and in fact, a film that stuck closer to the novel would have suffered. Scouring happens after Sauron is gone. To have the decoy still posing a threat after the destruction of the main villain wouldn’t work. In the book it has the effect of bringing into stark relief that even the rural paradise of The Shire doesn’t escape the War of the Ring untouched. The film accomplishes this in The Two Towers with a line of dialogue spoken by Merry: “The fires of Isengard will spread, and the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. There won’t be a Shire.” The Tom Bombadil part is frankly the dullest part of the books so I was quite pleased it was cut. With Helm’s Deep, Jackson and co accomplish what is essentially a master-class in building up tension in the run up to a climactic battle set piece, and the arrival of the small Elvish army to join the small human army to take on the huge army of Uruk-Hai is a perfectly judged moment – the book loses nothing from not having it; the film gains a wonderful, perfectly cinematic moment. The Faramir change is a little thornier, because it involves a small amount of criticism of Tolkien’s work. Faramir in the books is a bit one-dimensional. A bit boring. Apparently, the only guy in Middle Earth who can resist the power of the ring without breaking a sweat. There’s barely an arc, no real character development – hell, he’s barely even a character at all. He is so perfect, I think, to illustrate firstly the big difference between him and his brother Boromir, and secondly to suggest there is strength left in men, giving a reason to hope. The films change this. He isn’t so perfect. He is still clearly not his brother, but here he must earn his strength; he can only let the ring go when he begins to understand what it does. Removing Faramir’s nonchalant disregard for the ring and Tom Bombadil altogether, the film-makers have made the ring that much more potent – there is not a single soul in the films who is immune to its effects. This works better for the films, where there are fewer opportunities for depth of subtlety afforded the book.
So, don’t automatically groan when the adaptation of your favourite novel makes some changes. Consider the audience and see if those changes are made for a good reason or not. Or, you know, tell me why I'm wrong.
Films do something different. They show you, definitively, what that character looks like, how they sound, how they move, what that location looks like, or the internal layout of that building. Books allow you the freedom to create your own picture in your imagination. Films are more visual. They tell you what that picture looks like. There are other differences. Books often give you an insight into the innermost thoughts of a character. They can present an internal dialogue to tell you what the character thinks, and their motivation for their actions. Films give you a chance to apply your own take to the internal workings of character’s minds, using clues given by the actor’s performance.
What this boils down to is that they are very different ways to tell a story. When a book is adapted into a film, it is impossible not to account for this. There are, however, right and wrong ways to do this. If you understand the differences between the two, you could change a myriad of things, even the ending, and still adapt a book successfully. One example: Stardust. Neil Gaiman’s original story has quite a melancholic ending, which suits the story rather wonderfully. Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman’s film version retains much that made Gaiman’s original such a joy, but it is mostly lighter in tone, and a brighter happier ending suits it better.
For the screen, stories generally have to be simplified or changed in some way to make them more accessible to a wider audience. That’s not an insult to film, it is a simple and obvious (to most people) truth. Examples? Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and Jurassic Park to name just three. Occasionally, the changes made vastly improve on the source material (The Godfather, The Shining.) Sometimes a valiant attempt is made that just doesn’t come together (The Lovely Bones, Dune.) Sometimes, the changes undermine everything about it and nothing can help it to recover (step forward, The Golden Compass.) Some would argue Watchmen falls into this category, but I’ve neither seen nor read it, and have heard too many differences of opinion to be convinced either way.
By now, you’re probably wondering what the point of this entry is (none – have you not read this blog before?). Over the years, I’ve had many a conversation, debate and argument of the merits of films, books and the differences between them. Since this blog is a bit of a sounding board for me to make my thoughts and opinions known (or at the very least, to allow me to organise them), what better place for me to air this opinion? The two franchises that come up the most in these debates with both friends and colleagues are Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings (infer what that says about me and the people I converse with what you will). I would always find myself in defence of the film versions. Potter, under the guidance of author J. K. Rowling, trims the unnecessary sub plots to squeeze the plots into the running times. Seeing as the decisions are largely made or approved by the original architect of the series, the changes are fairly easy to justify.
Rings, on the other hand, is very different. The original author is dead. Only one person on the entire production ever met him (Christopher Lee). Some major changes have been made. Frodo is much younger. The Scouring of the Shire and Tom Bombadil are cut completely. Elves join the humans at Helm’s Deep. Faramir has a very different arc, taking Frodo and Sam to Osgiliath. This has annoyed a great many people. Every change, in my opinion, is justifiable and in fact, a film that stuck closer to the novel would have suffered. Scouring happens after Sauron is gone. To have the decoy still posing a threat after the destruction of the main villain wouldn’t work. In the book it has the effect of bringing into stark relief that even the rural paradise of The Shire doesn’t escape the War of the Ring untouched. The film accomplishes this in The Two Towers with a line of dialogue spoken by Merry: “The fires of Isengard will spread, and the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. There won’t be a Shire.” The Tom Bombadil part is frankly the dullest part of the books so I was quite pleased it was cut. With Helm’s Deep, Jackson and co accomplish what is essentially a master-class in building up tension in the run up to a climactic battle set piece, and the arrival of the small Elvish army to join the small human army to take on the huge army of Uruk-Hai is a perfectly judged moment – the book loses nothing from not having it; the film gains a wonderful, perfectly cinematic moment. The Faramir change is a little thornier, because it involves a small amount of criticism of Tolkien’s work. Faramir in the books is a bit one-dimensional. A bit boring. Apparently, the only guy in Middle Earth who can resist the power of the ring without breaking a sweat. There’s barely an arc, no real character development – hell, he’s barely even a character at all. He is so perfect, I think, to illustrate firstly the big difference between him and his brother Boromir, and secondly to suggest there is strength left in men, giving a reason to hope. The films change this. He isn’t so perfect. He is still clearly not his brother, but here he must earn his strength; he can only let the ring go when he begins to understand what it does. Removing Faramir’s nonchalant disregard for the ring and Tom Bombadil altogether, the film-makers have made the ring that much more potent – there is not a single soul in the films who is immune to its effects. This works better for the films, where there are fewer opportunities for depth of subtlety afforded the book.
So, don’t automatically groan when the adaptation of your favourite novel makes some changes. Consider the audience and see if those changes are made for a good reason or not. Or, you know, tell me why I'm wrong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)