BIG SCREEN ADAPTATIONS - Yea or Nay?

 I do love a cinema trip. Recent events have shown me I'm much more easily pleased by films than I am books. Take my most recent book, Our Story, by the Kray twins and Fred Dineage. Pretty atrociously written, rather transparent in its motivations and intentions, and extremely repetitive. Throw Tom Hardy (x2) into the mix, a great soundtrack, and a tragic love story, and I was professing it as one of my favourite films of 2015. So much so, I raced home to order two books about the Krays in order to feed my newfound obsession. A word of advice: leave it at the film. But perhaps if the book had been brilliant, I would be quicker to attack the film, which got me thinking about the relationship between page and screen - does it matter which one we see/read first, and how does the opinion of one effect the other?

The visual nature of films certainly brings writing to life, as the cliche goes, but I often feel a simultaneous lacking in that films can never fully translate the language used on the page. Watching a film, we may physically hear and see more, but they often don't say nearly as much as their wordy inspiration. Moreover, the visual nature of films that can so give life to your favourite book, can also destroy all your own imaginings and creative ideas taken from that book in the first place - can you relate to the story so well when it's quite clearly Keira Knightley in the role of Elizabeth Bennett, and not yourself as so often imagined? The crucial relatability of books can often be snatched away, and even more often, totally ruined, by some Hollywood director's decisions.

When pondering this, I thought back to some of my favourite screen adaptations, and how much the film matched up to the book...

The Great Gatsby

CONFESSION TIME. I didn't love the book that's been heralded as the epitome of the roaring 20s and Fitzgerald's masterpiece. I don't know what it was - rushed reading, bad timing, something just didn't do it for me and I wasn't wowed. All the more surprising as I usually love books from that era (Edith Wharton is a particular favourite).

Thus, I wasn't as ecstatically excited as most about the film coming out in 2013. One thing I was looking forward to, however, was Baz Lurhman putting his touch on it. I count Romeo and Juliet and Moulin Rouge among my favourite films and couldn't wait to see the cinematic artistry and hear the unpredictable soundtrack that he would inevitably inflict on the story. I won't bore you with the details, I have no doubt most people have seen this, but safe to say I absolutely love this film and can still watch it over and over. The costumes are dazzling, the filming is innovative, and the soundtrack matching Lana Del Rae with Beyonce and Andre 3000 is still one of my favourite playlists. For me, it seems, this book most definitely did need to be brought to life, and Lurhman did it perfectly (Leonardo Di Caprio didn't hurt either).

Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

I made no promises about the calibre of films/books being mentioned here, so refuse to be ashamed of this choice, or the fact I watched it weekly between the ages of 14 and 20. This film is absolutely priceless, even if you're not a teenage girl on the hunt for her first pull (PULL!) and trying to fill out an angel bra (eg. my 19 year old male flatmate at uni loved it). 

Diary books are always a popular genre for this age, from Adrian Mole to Anne Frank, the diary genre is so relatable and captivating at such an impressionable age. My teenage diaries certainly go through phases of resembling the style of each of my favourite fictional diary-writer and I think they're great for inspiring youngsters to get the pen and paper out.

The worst thing about this film is that they never did a sequel. If you're familiar with Louise Rennison's series, you'll know there's just about 100 books in it so there was so much scope to keep these films going. Alas, the beauty of it seems to be its singularity, I guess overkill can ruin things. I feel the same way about this film as I do my own diaries: deliciously *cringey* (a direct quote from the film right there) but completely addictive and always ensuing hilarity when rediscovered.

Life of Pi

I won't spend too long on this one as I previously wrote about this wonder of a novel, mentioning the film briefly.

I'm not surprised it took a decade for this adaptation to follow Yann Martel's book. Rarely has a book captured my imagination in such a way, creating a film of its own within my mind and remaining so utterly readable through such saturation of imagery over dialogue. The film was a huge cinematic production, and you didn't need your 3D glasses on to see that. Wild animals, raging seas, and colours you couldn't dream up - I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, just as with the book.

Titus Andronicus

Shakespeare adaptations are one of the most popular inspirations for films these days, and I count many among my favourite. When I say my favourites I'm talking about the chick flick style Julia Stiles Amanda Bynes starring ones, obviously. Occasionally, I delve into more serious adaptations. Titus Andronicus, starring Antony Hopkins, is definitely an interesting place to start.

Shakespeare scholars are certainly split on this one, but I think it's such a brilliant introduction to the play, one that loses none of the trauma, linguistic art, or character creation, but that is accessible to the novice playreader/watcher. I have revisited and written about Titus Andronicus countless times, and the images conjured up by this production often help me visualise such violence and horror that the play encapsulates. 

****

As I said at the beginning of this post, I'm much more easily pleased by films, and this is clear through my love of these four very different adaptations. It's worth pointing out, however, that none of these is a book I would call my absolute favourite. With those I'm much more wary. An adaptation of The Golden Notebook, The God of Small Things or even Lolita I would (and have) shied away from. Film adaptations definitely have their place, they can give colour and new light to a story and can also promote and inspire audiences to pick up the original book. But nothing can ever replace the art of language and personal narration that the novel evokes.

Summer Catch-up #2

The Quickening Maze - Adam Foulds

The Golden Notebook remains perhaps my all time favourite book for many reasons, and I've spoken to many people over the past year about mental health issues and how these are finally coming to the fore in news, politics and medical treatment. During one of these discussions, and having mentioned how much I love literature that explores these issues, a friend recommended The Quickening Maze. 

I devoured this in about 4 days on holiday. It's an easy and quick read, but no less hard hitting than it should be. Based in a  19th century asylum, the book explores the relationship between control, power, and treatment that dictated attitudes and responses to mental health. Greed and monetary ambition drives the owners of the asylum, resulting in horrific abuse and disrespect of the patients. The variation of voices and seamless flowing between people's experiences and the natural surroundings of the forest allow the decline of the patients' mental health to come through effectively and movingly. It's hard to know, by the end of the book, what's truth and what's in the characters' imagination, and the reader is left feeling the importance of understanding mental health in order to help people.

Essentially a historical book, Foulds still manages to enlighten opinions of mental health in today's society, conveying the ahistorical personality and behaviour behind the stereotypes of the Victorian asylum

My Brilliant Friend - Elena Ferrante

Two things have become obvious to me about my reading tastes since starting this blog: 1) I can't resist a good bildungsroman (coming of age novel) or biography, and 2) I love any kind of story set in a culture other than my own. My Brilliant Friend promised to be both these things, and was raved about here and across the pond - we've all seen the New Yorker review. Obviously, I eagerly put it on my birthday list. Just before I started it, I read a somewhat scathing review on The Guardian, but if the New York Review had called Ferrante 'one of the great novelists of our time' it must be worth reading, right?

I was firstly disappointed by the descriptive element, or lack thereof. Ferrante heavily emphasises the setting of Naples wherever she can, with its violence and poverty, but it comes across as rather...superficial. I didn't come away with a sense, or even an image, of the place in which the book is set - one of the main promises that drew me in. The central relationship between Lila and Elena is at times affecting and moving - we can all empathise and relate to complex friendships at any age, and their growth through adolescence, together and singly, was the highlight of the book. 

Being a trilogy, I was expecting to want to pick up the next instalment almost immediately. And I did...for about five minutes. Since finishing the book, I can barely remember the characters' names, and look back on it as rather 1 dimensional - a shame as with some more in-depth development I could have really loved this book.

***

Other summer reading highlights include: What Maisie Knew by Henry James (intriguingly narrated and very challenging), The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark (subtle and full of inferences, populated with characters we can all relate to, as I've come to expect from Spark) and Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham (hilarious).

Catch Up

I logged onto this blog this week and realised just how neglected it's been. I need to do just about 101 things to it to make it look and read how I'd like but we'll save that for another day when I'm feeling a little more techy (ie absolutely never).

I'm not under any illusions that anyone actually reads this except my immediate family (which still constitutes quite a large readership, the perks of being one of six), but having actually finished uni - for good this time - I just really miss writing. Afraid that this feeling would send me into a misguided sense of desire to do a PHD (GOD forbid) I decided the only thing for it is to start up the old blog again and see what happens.

Having OD'ed on theatre over the past year, but still feeling like a complete play going novice in comparison to some of my classmates, I'm taking a break from all things Shakespeare. I'm finally enjoying reading for leisure again and literally devoured numerous books over the summer. However, I'm well aware that 'numerous books' to me and 'numerous books' to an actual book blogger is wildly different. Fully fledged book bloggers get through about 10 or 12 books a month as far as I can tell, and that's just not how I roll. Trying to fit all that reading around working (yes I actually got a job) and all the other things I love like cooking, fitness and just general life feels too much like a chore. Also, Netflix.

So from now on this blog will be less strictly bookish themed and just bits of writing that pop up. I'm an adult now. I can do what I like.

At risk of sounding totally hypocritical and slightly psychopathic, I am now going to do a very bookish post of all my summer reads (yes I am changeable, no I'm not ashamed). NB. according to recent news, psychopaths are recognisable through their love of gin, black coffee and dark chocolate. No mention of red wine and Quorn scotch eggs though.

The Miniaturist - Jessie Burton

There was a period of time this year when you couldn't go into a bookshop without being bombarded with a display of Jessie Burton's debut novel. Having read the blurb numerous times and not quite grasping what the book would be about aside from potentially a creepy doll's house, I decided to take the plunge and read my first mainstream book in years.

Nella is a young woman married off to a rich older businessman in Amsterdam, forced away from her family home and into a solitary and gothic household. An interesting premise and a real page-turner. There are two strands to the story: Nella's distant and mysterious husband, and her seemingly prophetic doll's house. These come together slowly and methodically throughout the story, but the final chapters left me dissatisfied and confused. Burton leaves so many unanswered questions, opens so many boxes that just stay wide ajar for eternity. And there's nothing worse than unfinished business. Don't get me wrong, I like an open ended conclusion that leaves you to make your mind up, but this just felt a little unintentional. Like the story had snowballed and abruptly reached its word limit. 

An emotive plot line, but with occasional stilted language and loose ends that leave a lot to be desired, I struggled to understand the hype around this book.

Cat's Eye - Margaret Atwood

I purchased this for 50p on one of those unheard of afternoons where you have a free hour to explore the London streets, finding a second hand book stall set up in a quiet residential road, and absolutely go to town on their wares. Both my sister and mum are huge Atwood fans but I was yet to read anything by her.

Cat's Eye follows Elaine through a return to her hometown of Toronto, where she is overcome by memories of her traumatic childhood and development into an adult. As so many authors try to do, Atwood utilises a child's voice and manipulates it to create the oh so unreliable but revealing narrator. A rarity for so many books like this, Atwood manages to combine a childlike and naive point of view with the retrospective knowledge and insight of an adult looking back. The book is a brutal one; the tale of young girls, best friends, who can be so cruel to one another, and the longterm effects it has on someone's life and creative output. It is not sentimental, it is not wishy washy, but it touches on the mental impact of early experiences and relationships in a way that is so relevant in today's society, perhaps more so than ever. 

A beautiful and brilliant book that effected me deeply and has well and truly set me off on the Atwood path.

***

I'm splitting the summer book haul into two posts because it would just be too long otherwise. After the overload of reviews I may do something unthinkable and share some of my creative writing. I'm sure you're all (hi Mum) dying to read it.

As You Like It at Shakespeare's Globe

'All the world's a stage' says Jacques in As You Like It, and for most of Monday evening I felt like my entire world was the stage - more precisely, the Globe's extended stage, which they utilised more than usual to depict the expansive Forest of Arden. 

The Globe's production was my first experience of seeing As You Like It live on stage, but my excitement was incensed by imaginings of what the mystical wilderness of Arden would look like. Incidentally, the stage was the barest I've seen it,  bar a few flags and some understated foliage on the columns, but what it lacked in décor it made up for in energy and hilarity.

We may as well get straight to the star of the show: Michelle Terry as Rosalind. She was the first true comedian I've seen on the Globe stage, her comic nature wasn't a deliberate part of this particular character so much as her natural comedic talent showing through. Nonetheless, it suited Rosalind perfectly, and made her an erratic, bordering on manic, character with none of the 'female hysteria' mockery added on. Director Blanche McIntyre may well take credit for this refreshing portrayal of a Shakespearean woman: although Rosalind is inherently allowed many 'feminist' traits through her disguise as Ganymede - something emphasised by the brilliant whipping off of her wedding dress to reveal the remaining breeches in the final scene - Celia (Ellie Piercy), the quintessential feminine figure in the play, is not pathetic and laughable either, but witty and charming. 

Although Terry really does dominate the second half in her guise as Ganymede, prancing from mood to mood one minute in ecstasy the next unforgiving rage, more minor characters such as Touchstone (Daniel Crosseley) and Audrey (Sophia Nomvete) manage to keep the pace up and the plotline refreshing. The choice to have the interval so early was an interesting one, making the second half a testing 1.5 hours. For those that don't know the story, there was the surprise of so many new characters and subplots in the second half, rather than merely focussing on the Rosalind/Orlando (Simon Harrison) story of the first half. I sensed McIntyre was aware of the unusual length of this half and the musical numbers (written by Johnny Flynn) really kept the energy up and the audience's excitement palpable.

On page, Jacques has always struck me as a confusing cross between melancholy and fool, and admittedly I wasn't looking forward to his lengthy role. However, James Garnon took it on expertly and understatedly. He was unpredictable, suddenly sarcastic, suddenly cutting, suddenly friendly, suddenly desolate - he brought substance to his much quoted speeches and fitted in perfectly to this brilliantly modern twist on original Shakespearean performance the Globe does so well. Blanche McIntyre is fast becoming my most anticipated director of seasons to come.

NB if you need just ONE reason to go to see this, make it Orlando's appropriately lengthy shirtless wrestling scene. If anything's worth standing up for 3 hours, it's that.

Watch it now! Book tickets here

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Making my way to the Playhouse theatre on the river bank, I prepared myself for a troubling and emotional afternoon. My judgement was based purely on: a) the title (see above), b) the fact the production is  modelled on Spanish director Pedro Almodovar's film Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios known for its black comedy, and c) the minimal number of Spanish films I have seen, which are brilliant, but hardly uplifting. Retrospectively, perhaps I should have based it on comic actress Tamsin Grieg's role as protagonist, Pepa, the colourful and stylish poster plastered in every tube station, and the fact that it was my sister who recommended we get tickets (she's not one for serious, sit-in-the-dark-and-shut-up theatre).

We had seats in the circle, but were instantly upgraded to stalls, the fourth row from the stage! Still unsure as to the reasons for this thanks to the mystique of theatre (a box office assistant telling us it was down to unsold seats and his manager promptly scolding him for over-sharing), we eagerly took our VIP seats and admired the stage, modern and full of pops of colour. And the performance followed suit. The opening scene was a chaotic dream sequence of characters running on and off stage to a backdrop of Spanish guitar and singing from the highly talented Ricardo Afonso who played the taxi driver - a guardian angel with a comical (and musical) twist. This fast-paced and fluidly blocked scene set the tone for the rest of the performance - characters whizzed across the stage, twirled and fluttered from entrance to exit, bursting into song at every opportunity, whilst the scenery seamlessly transformed behind them.

I'm not usually one to notice costuming in a modern-era play, but the gorgeous styling of this production was hard to miss, and reflected the bright and upbeat nature of the story, even in its lowest moments. It also helped to drive home the point: these were fashionable, powerful women, all seamlessly coiffured and made up on the outside, but falling apart on the inside. 

In a two hour production, it can be hard to create lasting and believable relationships, but Grieg's affectionate and gentle way of performing gave her relationship with best friend Candela (Anna Skellern) a truly touching and genuine portrayal. Pepa, and indeed all the characters, are loveable because they're real. They have unlikeable and annoying traits, and they make mistakes, they're not all independent women who can cope without men all of the time, but at least they're trying. And hey, the men definitely can't cope without them either. This realism is of course due in part to the original film plot, but the acting really allowed it to shine through - the combination of slick physical movement and natural  speech created an atmosphere in which we could enjoy an entertaining and exciting piece of theatre whilst genuinely relating to and believing the characters.

Grieg was visibly emotional by the end of the performance. I'm not sure whether this happens to her at every show, whether it was exhaustion, or pride. But for me, the emotional aspect was the lasting message that, no matter what catastrophic thing may happen (and in this play all the catastrophic things happened), the sisterhood of women and female friendship is strong enough to get through just about anything. Totally empowering, and the perfect play to see with the three best ladies in my life.

See it now! Get tickets here

The Changeling at The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse

The Changeling is....I find myself struggling to finish this sentence. Anyone who's ever read or seen the play will be feeling my pain. It's humorous yet darkly intricate at best and random and fragmented at worst. Those of us who find ourselves reading more and more obscure Jacobean plays as the weeks go by (no? Just me?) will be well aware of the questionable sub-plots that crop up from time to time. The Changeling, however, takes this to another level. As what can only be assumed is a comical relief from Beatrice-Joanna and DeFlores' spree of murder, manipulation, and rape is a random spattering of scenes in a psychiatric hospital, concerning various patients, the Dr, and his wife. 

Sounds pretty far-fetched, right? And potentially very tricky for a modern day theatre to produce. The recently born Sam Wanamaker Playhouse took on the challenge, and who better? The only theatre in the country which has attempted to mimic the seventeenth century Blackfriars indoor playhouse - complete with candles, claustrophobia, and uncomfortable seating. It is an unbeatably fascinating experience, never have I been so close to the actors, so utterly focussed on the action onstage, so aware of my fellow audience members.

In terms of the performance, if I had been in any other theatre I probably would have zoned out on more than one occasion. I was lucky enough to nab a seat in the Musicians' Gallery, behind/above the stage. I say lucky in terms of being so near the live, authentically dressed musicians, the site of a psychiatric patient invasion in the second half, and being able to see both sides of the stage pretty equally. It was perhaps unlucky in particular for this performance, as manyof the hospital scenes were based upstage, in particular actually within the walls and doors connecting to backstage. As such, no matter how much we clambered over the bannister and craned our necks downwards, we couldn't see any of the comical elements of these scenes, rendering this subplot pretty much redundant. However, I'm willing to relent that this was only a problem for the eight of us in these seats. By all accounts - and by this I mean all the whooping and guffawing going on from the rest of the audience - these scenes were real comic highlights of the whole production.

To the main plot: I found Beatrice-Joanna too breathy and monotonous, and DeFlores too comical. This may sound harsh, but by the end I actually thought, maybe this is the best way to portray the characters. Maybe I've always taken the play too seriously, and maybe that's the problem. After all, Beatrice-Joanna is changeable, unlikeable and unsympathetic. DeFlores is creepy, disloyal, and only seems to open up to the audience. No matter how much I wanted to take these characters seriously, the way they were portrayed merely emphasised the ridiculous nature of the play and the fickle motivations of all the characters. What I initially felt was negative has apparently transmuted into a positive since my initial trip to the theatre.

Prior to the performance, I was lucky enough to attend Middleton expert Gary Taylor's lecture on the interior nature of the play. I realised, The Changeling is the perfect play for the enclosed and dark atmosphere of the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse. I'm not sure I would ever have raving reviews of a production of The Changeling, but thanks to the unexpected portrayal of characters and oppressive environment, it was one of the most exciting and authentic theatre experiences I've ever had.

SWP still have some great productions coming up before the end of the season, have a browse and buy tickets here. Whatever you do, make sure you pay attention to the candles, the productions use them in innovative and unique ways and scenes often revolve around them, something you're really not going to experience anywhere else.

Merchant of Venice at the Almeida

In the past six months I've being reading more and watching more plays than ever before, and yet the blog has all but died. Ironic? I honestly couldn't tell you - the concept of irony baffles me. But I do know it's not great blogger form, and now I have a humongous backlog of great books and performances that I'm dying to write about. Besides, the fact that I have three essays looming over me in the next month is a great motivation to get back to the blog. 

First up, The Merchant of Venice at the Almeida theatre. Artistic director Rupert Goold has set Shakespeare's dark comedy of prejudice and property in the glistering, superficial world of Las Vegas, complete with Antonio the melancholic gambler (Scott Handy), Launcelot the Elvis impersonator (Jamie Beamish), and Portia (Susannah Fielding) the Southern blonde bombshell princess. Now, I am well aware of the fervently anti-modern-Shakespeare-adaptation faction out there, even more so since beginning my MA and feeling like the least serious, phoniest Shakespeare scholar out there. What can I say? I love a good change of scenery in a Shakespeare play, it keeps it fresh for people less academically minded and often offers a new perspective on an over-exhausted debate. That being said, adaptations always need to be done well -  I've found they work best when they don't need too much complex explanation and emphasise the fun element of pitching a seventeenth century script in a totally alien element. Programmes are great ways of engaging the audience and allowing the director to explain their thought processes, but at about £4 or more a pop not everyone is going to invest - an adaptation needs to be self-explanatory, but leave room for the audience to think once the show is over.

For me, Merchant at the Almeida did exactly this. There have been hugely mixed reviews of it, a lot negative, and I faced quite a negative reaction when admitting my positive thoughts about it to fellow students. The general consensus is that the bright lights and exaggerated Americanisation clouded the all-important plot. Fair enough, at times I was mesmerised more by Portia's bouncing golden ringlets than her lamentations over her imprisonment in Belmont, and Elvis' hip thrusting warbling might not have been exactly what Shakespeare was going for. But the production did have some stand out points that really made me think. Firstly, the portrayal of foreignness and prejudice in such a modern setting was troubling and unavoidable. I spoke with my mum for a long time after this about the way  the play outlined stereotyped racism - even though we may no longer racially mock the Spanish, or the Moroccans, racial and religious stereotyping is certainly not dead, and the audience was starkly reminded of this throughout the performance.

The final scene was another triumph for this production. Bearing in mind I saw this way back in January, this scene is still vivid in my mind, which is always a true testament to any performance. What has always struck me about Merchant is the apparent unhappiness of all the couples at the end, no one seems very invested in each other - everyone's got what/who they want but suddenly it's totally unfulfilling. At the Almeida this translated into a closing sequence of Portia teetering on a high heel, performing something between a ballet sequence and a slow motion breakdown. Making it all the more haunting, the characters she circled - Bassanio and Antonio, Lorenzo and Jessica, Gratiano and Nerissa - alternated between staring blankly outside the stage space and awkwardly at one another. Following a comedic and extravagant two hours and a half, I was left with an empty and uncomfortable taste in my mouth. This is exactly how I feel every time I re-read the playtext, after the triumphant celebration of the trial scene, the spats between the couples over Portia and Nerissa's rings leaves a gaping awkwardness that the play apparently runs out of time to fill or resolve. This production ended on the perfect note of questionable happiness and uncertain love matches and friendships.

These aren't my highlights as such, they were really the two things that struck me about the performance. The one thing that did jar for me was the transformation of the casket plot into a game show - I understand the sentiment but ultimately it confused the plot and made it more complicated than it needed to be. Aside from what I've mentioned, and the individual performances - none of which I can majorly fault - the performance was more or less a bit of fun. But there's nothing wrong with that, and going for fun rather than super serious in terms of updating an early modern play is often the most successful way of doing it. Even those of us who are seriously the seriouest of the serious Shakespeare scholars need a bit of fun once in a while.