Books versus film adaptations: it’s no contest

I am one of those annoying cinema goers who, while walking out of the theatre, says ‘the book was so much better!’ I then proceed to list the discrepancies between the two versions to the poor person who agreed to go with me (poor them indeed because I will always eat approximately 75% of the communal popcorn).

When I enjoy a novel and find out a film version is being made, this is the order of my emotions: surprise, happiness, concern, trepidation, I might feel excitement for a bit, return back to concern, worry, anger and finally disgust.

Then I have to wait the 12-18 months it takes for them to release the film, struggle through the reviews and then see it for myself.

I know I could avoid much of this drama if I stop reading novels, just kidding, if I stop seeing film interpretations, but I’m drawn to them, just like I’m drawn to three quarters of the popcorn.

When the film is released I simply have to know how it’s been adapted. How much have they cut out? Have they altered the tone? Is that male hero as saucy as he was in my head? And it goes on.

Here are my 5 reasons why I prefer the book over the film:

The changes

I take it as a personal insult when the plot is changed, admittedly I know literally nothing about how to make a film, but c’mon, do they think they know better than the writer? I’m not talking about minor alterations here, I mean when they really change things. My Sister’s Keeper, anyone?

The editing

I know it’s impossible to fit a 400 page novel into a two hour film, I’m not that delusional, but the amount frustrates me. It always ends up being my favourite scene that doesn’t make the cut. I spend the whole first half waiting for it, realise it hasn’t been included and then spend the rest of the film sitting in silent fury.

The power of imagination

Since we usually read the novel before we see the film, we have nothing to compare it to. This, in itself, suggests why we would prefer the book. But when we see the film we have to fight an internal battle between how we imagined things to be and how it is being shown to us. I’ve spent many post-film-drinks lamenting “I didn’t picture it like…” I’m proud of my over-active imagination, but it means that the film will never measure up to the universe I’ve created in my head, one that is singularly, and profoundly mine.

The choice of actor

I find the choice of actor for key roles to be very distracting and, at times, disheartening. Following on from my previous point, I imagined them a certain way and I have been inevitably let down. Plus, I’m spending the majority of the running time trying to remember where I’ve seen that actor before. It would be too rude and socially unacceptable for me to get my phone out and check IMDB. This was especially interesting when I saw Divergent. I loved this YA book and was as happy with the film as I was going to be, except I couldn’t get past the fact that the actors in the main brother/sister relationship actually played lovers in The Fault in Our Stars. And that wasn’t the only filmic incest happening. I found myself drifting away from the plot of the film to think about how Hollywood is just one giant pool which keeps getting drained.

The value of interpretation

Lastly, and probably most importantly, the film is an interpretation. The director, producer, scriptwriter etc. have taken the source material of the book and, through the lens of their experience, chosen how it will be presented to the audience. In the novel, the writer has decided how they want their story to be told and I want to experience that story in their desired form. After I read and loved the novel Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin, I was interested to see how Nick Hornby, a writer I admire, would translate the ending for the screen. I won’t reveal how he did it, but I will say that it was clearly a choice made to appeal to a wider audience (but I’m a sucker for romance, so I don’t mind the new ending…)

Even though it hurts my heart, I will continue seeing film adaptations of novels I love. Why do I continue to put myself through it? Because the agony of seeing it is not as difficult as the agony of not seeing it.

Did I miss anything? Does anyone disagree with me and prefer films?

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