Movies Adaptations that were better than their Books (about the randomly capitalised words... I'm lazy)

I started writing this yesterday - because I was thinking about The Hunger Games and the more I think about the books the better I like the movie - but got bored because, as it turns out, I don't watch a lot of movies based on books? And 98% of the time the book is better than the movie anyway, so this list was challenging to make for many reasons. Also, it seems that a lot of movies I watch are just not very good movies. Or children's movies. Or period films.


Chocolat by Joanne Harris

Why was the movie better? Weeeell...
One thing I appreciate about movies is their aesthetic: since film is a visual media a director has far more power over the look of the world they create and I hugely appreciate director Lasse Hallström's decision (if it was his decision) to move the film's chronology from the 80s/90s to the 50s. The clothes, colours, decor and culture just add so much to the film's whimsical magic.
I also greatly appreciate the changes that were made character-wise: instead of the village priest being the film's antagonist, he is a young, weak but rather adorable Father who is just a little too easily ordered about by the real villain and splendidly portrayed mayor of the town, whose vulnerabilities and tragic history are presented with far more sympathy than anything Harris originally dreamed up. The main character, Vianne, is also a lot more stable and a wiser, kinder woman in the film: I may be prejudiced but I am eternally thankful that the filmmakers chose to ditch the theme of 'good' witchcraft vs 'evil' Christianity. In comparison I would deem the book somewhat mean-spirited and meandering when held up next to the movie's redemptive message. (Also, I want all of Juliette Binoche's wardrobe from this film!)

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot

There isn't really very much that Cabot's book series has in common with the 2001 film of the same name. Which is all to the good of the film. (Don't ask me about the second movie though. It was a sad cash cow suffering a bad case of sequelitis) Suffice it to say that the movie is better than any of the books. Julie Andrews can make almost anything better.

About a Boy by Nick Hornby

This is actually a pretty close one - both the book and the movie are pretty good and entertaining in their own way, but the movie nudges ahead in my estimation simply because of its ending and its treatment of the central theme of growing up. Growing up is sort of the most important idea behind the story, which deals with Will, the manchild, and Marcus, the uncool little boy, who both need to grow up in different ways. What I didn't like was the implication at the end of the book that growing up necessarily means assimilating - that awkward kids must just learn to be like everybody else. The movie didn't do that. The movie let Marcus stay his own little awkward adorable self - only plus friends.

 

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Again, only marginally. I love both the book and the movie but there were things in the book that annoyed me, as described here.

Haha, these lists just get less and less detailed as they go on, don't they? That's either because I write about the things I want to write about first and leave the ones about which I have less to say for last - or I get bored and peter out. I think I've petered out.

Hello.

Been reading Bear Grylls's book, Mud, Sweat and Tears - quite a good read, actually - and he hasn't eaten anything totally disgusting yet, in case you're wondering: so far it's mostly descriptions of gruelling SAS training and stuff.
But as I was reading along about Bear's education and early life, one thing jumped out at me. Bear Grylls went to Eton College!
WAITAMINUTE... Benedict Cumberbatch went to Eton College! Hugh Laurie, Tom Hiddleston, Prince William... going fictional here... Captain Hook, Bertie Wooster, Psmith, Poirot's friend Hastings, James Bond! All Old Etonians!

Who wants to come camp in Windsor with me?

I Wax Parenthetical On the Topic of Narnia

Hiya guys.

Didn't really know whether to put this on here or on my book blog, (cue shameless self promotion here) but my book blog's had more attention from me lately, so I'll put it here.

I own a tonne of Narnia themed books (there's a little section on my bookshelf where they hang out) and I've just acquired another one: The Narnia Code. Despite the incredibly lame title - which is actually an appropriate one, unlike most books with Da Vinci Code parody titles - it is pretty good and I am looooving it so far. Author Michael Ward's got a unique and fascinating thing to say.

Anyway... it got me thinking about Narnia in general and one particular Narnian controversy - Susan.

I never really liked Susan all that much - to be perfectly honest with you, I always prefered Peter and Edmund to their sisters... which isn't just to say that I had a little tiny crush on Peter growing up (heh heh, of course not...) or that I adored Edmund for growing up 'graver and quieter' and having that long bromancy chat with Eustace about their respective experiences of redemption. (And yes, I have lost my train of thought! Um...)

Lucy I always wished I could relate to more, chiefly because she's got such faith and such a close connection with Aslan. To my lasting regret I'm probably more of a Susan in some ways - not least because of the serious case of 'eldest sister syndrome' we've both got going. And I'm pretty sure that Aslan would be telling me "You have listened to fears, child," rather than "Now you are a lioness". Damn my insecurities!

Something secular adult readers usually have a problem with when they read Narnia is the way Susan develops (or rather doesn't develop) throughout the series. They say things like 'Lewis punishes Susan for growing up' and 'the author's issues with sexuality are blatantly shown in his portrayal of Susan'. Neil Gaiman apparently wrote a whole short story about the issue called The Problem of Susan (and if I learn that the title was meant to be a swipe at Lewis's book The Problem of Pain I think I shall be violently ill). I haven't read The Problem of Susan and I don't plan to; having read that there are disgusting violent and sexually explicit scenes involving Aslan. THAT IS IN NO WAY OK AT ALL EVER. (I just accidentally read the excerpt from a reviewer of the story. There is bile in my mouth.) GO RUIN YOUR OWN CHILDHOOD, YOU SICK SON OF A BACHELOR.

I say, if you want to read C. S. Lewis writing female characters badly, go read That Hideous Strength and leave Narnia alone. It's fine. But let me elaborate on that.

Susan's sin is not 'growing up'. All four Pevensie children actually grow up twice (I always wondered how they would feel about that - seems like a bit of a mixed blessing to me) - once when they're kings and queens in Narnia and once when they're back in 'our world'. And nothing negative is said or hinted about their transitions into adulthood either time - except perhaps for Susan. I grant you, she is a bit silly for considering Rabadash as a suitor in The Horse and His Boy, but I'm sure that's a mistake a lot of girls would make about a dashing foreign prince. And there are at least two other strong female characters in that book anyway, all you feminist Narnia bashers! What Susan gets called on is her retreat into superficiality. When Jill says 'she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations' she means that Susan has become wrapped up in a chase for surface beauty and a desire to fit worldly standards. A bit of an easy trap for the 'pretty one of the family', I guess. When Jill does say that Susan 'always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up', Polly corrects her with 'Grown up indeed... I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste the rest of her life trying to stay that age.' Which is also a pretty good description of the whole of the modern attitude on age and beauty!
C. S. Lewis isn't attacking Susan's femininity. His sympathetic and human portrayal of Jill (I don't particularly like Jill, but she's very realistic and empathetic) shouts down any claims of misogyny from people who don't like Lucy or Aravis or Polly or any of the other fully fleshed out girls in the series.

And it is horrible for Susan that her whole family died together and left her alone - but I always saw that as a sort of hopeful thing: she doesn't end up cast out into utter darkness, she doesn't die lying to herself about her girlhood adventures and ignoring the rich spiritual life she knows she could have, so far as we know. I think that the loss of her entire family might just be the only thing that could jerk her away from the trap of superficiality. I mean, I could be wrong, but that's just how I like to think of it. There's still hope for Susan.

The rule by which he had always lived was that the best would have to do until something better came along.

Been an odd, but on the whole, good sort of week. Lots of audiobooks. ;-)
I have very little laptop battery left so this shall probably be another of those deplorably short posts I've been specialising in. Listening to lots of Hans Zimmer music on youtube right now, because it's awesome. Should go and get dressed and vacuum + tidy. Also, I learned only about an hour ago that I'm supposed to be getting a new wardrobe in today: gaaah!
I'm so disorganised. There goes the battery... my laptop is making unhappy bleeping sounds...

Mine is a refined and poetic nature. I like to be surrounded by joy and life, and I know nothing more joyless and deader than a dead fish.

Titles...

Thinking recently about book titles - I never can seem to come up with one for any of the novels I'm writing, but whenever I read poetry they just leap out at me in spades! Wish one of them would work for my books...

John Milton:

This Nethermost Abyss

Their Hideous Change

Darkness Visible

Their Own Dimensions

Glory Unobscured

Hard Liberty Before The Easy Yoke

Many A Region Dolorous

Tennyson

Farewell, We Kiss, And They Are Gone

Fierce Extremes

The Honied Hours

The Glory Of The Sum Of Things

To The Morning Sea

Every Door Is Barred With Gold

The Luxuriant Symmetry

My Lighter Moods

And those are just two awesome poets (I couldn't be bothered getting up to find some more books!). I admit that some of these would be incredibly difficult to suit to a story - but don't they sound good?

These songs are true These days are ours These tears are free...

Just got back from a shopping trip. My mind is in a weird, not unhappy, but certainly tired, achy mode this evening. Westfield will do that to you. It's the first time I've been shopping in about two weeks - the cupboards were looking unspeakably bare and I decided that it had to happen - one can't really make a meal out of two slices of beetroot, a block of Parmesan and half a punnet of strawberries! So I went to the shops. Usually I favour the cheapy-cheap goodness of Aldi but today I couldn't be bothered finding two dollars for their trollies so I went to Coles instead and drowned out the sound of the Masterchef ads with the sheer loudness of my thoughts. I've spent this last week in a sort of coma - my way of avoiding expenditure (which must, for goodness sakes, be avoided - I have to register the car before Mum has the baby!) - not going out, not visiting people or driving anywhere (I have about a 24th of a tank of petrol left)... I felt unproductive, but otherwise good about myself - lounging about in pajamas all day and watching the grass grow has a soothing effect on my soul.


Back to the shopping trip. I read somewhere that one should eat 3 portions of fruit per day - so today in the veggie leg of my trip I painstakingly counted out 21 pieces of fruit... one week until next shopping trip! I always try to buy my fruit meat & veg at individual shops instead of supermarkets - but it's always dreadfully intimidating. I take one look at the fishmonger and wither away into a heap of quivering jelly. Which is probably why I don't eat a lot of fish! And meat too - I'm almost a vegetarian these days - simply because I'm either too forgetful or too intimidated to walk into a butcher's shop and buy meat.


I also bought a book - Politically Incorrect Parenting, which is, so far, the best parenting book I've ever read. And yes, I agree that I'm a freak for reading parenting books; I've been doing it since my earliest childhood though. I read Babies! and Toddler Taming (Go Christopher Green!) when I was about eight or nine - and have spent the last nine-ish months reacquainting myself with Kaz Cooke and a ton of natural birth books at a feverish pace. Politically Incorrect Parenting is well-written, funny and sympathetic - and the author is both a father and a trained professional - good combination for a person writing a book about kids, if you ask me!

My song of the month is:

It started playing on the radio the other day when I was having a strugglesome moment in the car 'What do you want me to do, God? What direction do you want me to move in?' - that kind of a moment. And I started singing along and crying and decided to put myself in God's hands and see what He would do... pray for me, you lovely folks! And the song is all about our purpose being in glorifying God, so I feel a big need to do that. He IS pretty darn magnificent!

I give you back my voice...

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.

Fairtrade Chocolate

Jeeves & Wooster

P2 Driver's licence

Oranges

Tea

Dressing Gown
(although mine isn't nearly as cool as that)

Second-hand poetry books

Today was a good day.

"the utter loneliness of a forest is not so difficult to endure as the loneliness of being surrounded by crowds of people who do not care..."

Hello everybody!

Now I think I'll get back to that topic that I was going to write about when I got horribly sidetracked by Wally Meadows... books nobody reads! Or at least books that nobody I know has read. Except me, of course.

Soooo, today we have Freckles by Gene Stratton Porter! I first encountered this book in my favourite part of Hurstville library (the classics for kids section), when I was going through my 'oh-my-gosh-Little-Women-was-marvellous-must-read-every-other-Louisa-May-Alcott-book!' phase.

Freckles, which was written in 1904 by an American woman, is simply jam-packed full of cliches and drips with sentimental feeling in every line. And I still love it!
It's a story about a young red-head man, found at a Chicago orphanage as a baby (somehow he manages to develop a heavy Irish accent during his stay there. Oh, and he's missing a hand), who goes to seek his fortune and earn his way as a timber guard in 'the Limberlost', which is, of course, a large, spooky, pretty forest, overflowing with fascinating fauna. He wins the heart of his employer - who eventually seeks to adopt him as a son - outwits timber thieves, learns a lot about the local wildlife, and falls deeply in love with an overly beautiful rich girl. The book ends with him being reunited with rich parents who lost him as a baby to a jealous nurse.

Despite all the description of her physically and personally, Freckles's love interest the 'Swamp Angel' (and we never find out her real name) is extremely two-dimensional. Maybe she's too pretty or something - but even though she's even given a scene in which she shoots like a pro the girl just doesn't convince me. I'll give you the description of her so you get an idea, it almost reads like a parody:

'Parting the wild roses at the entrance was beauty of which Freckles never had dreamed. Was it real or would it vanish as the other dreams? He dropped his book, and rising to his feet, went a step closer, gazing intently. This was real flesh and blood. It was in every way akin to the Limberlost, for no bird of its branches swung with easier grace than this dainty young thing rocked on the bit of morass on which she stood. A sapling beside her was not straighter or tounder than her slender form. Her soft, waving hair clung around her face from the heat, and curled over her shoulders. It was all of one piece with the gold of the sun that filtered between the branches. Her eyes were the deepest blue of the iris, her lips the reddest red of the foxfire, and her cheeks exactly of the same satin as the wild rose petals caressing them."

Hmmm. Freckles somehow escapes Mary-Sueism (or maybe he doesn't; your mileage may vary) but he isn't on my list because he's just toooo good.

His awesome Irish accent and intense chivalry appeal though.

"Judging by my feelings just now, I don't think I'll be alive presently, so I can promise without any trouble."

Hello-ello-ello,

Today, my dearest readers, I wish to take you on a tour of lovely books you probably haven't read because nobody reads them anymore.

Let us start with my favourites:

The Billabong books by Mary Grant Bruce

I first happened upon these books (there are fifteen all in all) when my cousin gave me the first three for Christmas one year. She hadn't read them, but they looked like the sort of thing we're both into. I was going through my horsy phase at this time (I shudder and cringe in retrospect; a person who doesn't ride has no right to know so much about dressage, gymkhana and general equestrian trivia) and so was watching 'The Saddle Club' every day, reading all the Saddle Club books, The Silver Brumby, A Pony For The Winter (and basically every other 'whinge, whinge, buy me a ruddy pony already, daddy or I'll go steal one!' book in the library).
So A Little Bush Maid (don't judge a book by its title, my loves) was the perfect gift for me at the time. And then I fell in love. With Wally Meadows, to be specific. Norah (the main character)'s brother's best friend, a rich orphan boy from Queensland who comes down with Jim (Norah's aforementioned brother) every holiday from boarding school in Melbourne. I must say that, if first dibs counts for anything, I fell in love with Wally eight books before Norah did.

These books jumpstarted my deep and abiding affection for early 20th century slang, fictional boys, books about WWI (Jim and Wally go off to war in books 4-7), Australian fiction of the period (more of which shall be discussed later) and it weaned me off the horsy books. Although horses are a recurring theme (the series being set mainly on a cattle station in Victoria) they are far less enchanting than the people.

I can't really explain why I love Wally so much - it would take a whole book to do that. I think I'll give you a little excerpt instead (I feel no qualms about it being a major plot spoiler because the chances of you reading these books are incredibly incredibly slim.)

'"You're a queer chap, Wal.' [said Jim] 'Why did you never tell me about the trouble you and Norah had with the roan bull?"

Wally was glad that it was nearly dark. He hesitated a moment, trying to make his voice careless.

"Oh - I don't know. Did Norah tell you?"

"She only told me last night. By Jove! It must have been an awfully near thing! She reckons she'd have been killed, to a certainty, if you hadn't turned up. Was it as narrow a shave as that?"

"Yes, it was pretty narrow. I don't want to see anything closer." To his disgust, Wally found it difficult to speak in his ordinary voice; again came that dryness of the mouth, the sick horror, that always swept over him at the memory of Norah's peril. Jim glanced at him curiously.

"But why didn't you tell me anything about it?"

"I - I'm hanged if I know," Wally said.

"Well," said Jim, and stopped. The shade of hurt surprise in his tone cut Wally like a whip. It was unthinkable that any misunderstanding should come between him and Jim. [Another thing I love about these books: the epic bromance between Jim and Wally]

"I don't know why," he said desperately. "I - I couldn't talk of it somehow. It was too close. I - Oh, hang it, old man, can't you understand? Norah - well, I can't even think of it easily. I care too much."

For a moment there was utter silence. The Jim's great hand caught at his chum's and wrung it.

"Why, Wal!" he said, "Dear old chap!"

"Well, that's that!" said Wally. "I only realised it myself a little while ago, and I've been pretty miserable ever since."

"But why?" said Jim, "Why shouldn't you care for her?"

And that's all I'll give you. I think, actually that what I love about Wally (besides the dark hair, sensitive nature, deep olive tan, cheerfulness, loyalty, dancing skills, optimism, enthusiasm, random use of Gaelic endearments and big brown eyes) is his improbable but devestating combination of a tough, manly, outdoorsy Aussie type with the chivalrous romantic gentleman of the period. *Sigh*.

Well, that's about all we have time for today, folks. I intended this to be a post about rare out-of-print stories that rock... and then spent the entire time raving about a man who doesn't even exist. I'm a hopeless case.

Acushla Machree

You may, some of you, remember me saying that I have never had a crush on anybody. This isn't strictly true. Most of my crushes have been English or of English origins... and fictional. Indeed.

It all began with my childhood obsessions with Peter Pan and Robin Hood. I either flew to Neverland almost every night as a preteen or stalked the forests with a band of Merry Men. Then I moved on to falling in love with less likely heroes - Curdie from The Princess And The Goblin, Rat from The Wind in The Willows, and Sam Gamgee the true hero of The Lord of The Rings. As I grew older I moved on to Jane Austen. *Chuckles* Mr Darcy and Mr Knightley and the rest are all very well... but I simply adore Henry Tilney...
Then it was Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Pimpernel. Nowadays I'm rather immersed in P.G. Wodehouse. I have the mildest crush on Bertie - because he is rather a darling - but really I'm head over heels for Jeeves...











Oh, the cleverness of me!

Simply messing about in boats!

Where there is all hole, sir Never can be holes
Why should shoes have soles, sir
When they've got no souls?

I shall love her until the day I die. That's the tragedy.

"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo...and it's worth fighting for!"

"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again."

Well, when a girl thinks you're in love with her and comes to you and says that she's returning her betrothed to store and is prepared to sign up with you instead - what can you do except marry her? You have to be civil.
















I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.

Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, "So, you're back from Moscow, eh?".

Having recently (as in the last few months) discovered the genius of P. G. Wodehouse, today I indulged and bought myself a 'Wooster and Jeeves' book. Anybody who hasn't yet succumbed to the pure, charming delight of Wodehouse ought to be forcibly made to sit down and read even a few chapters of his work. Particularly people in need of a pick-me-up. As I read I am filled with a satisfying, warming feeling that everything will be OK, because the inimitable Jeeves, no matter how fate conspires, always comes through. He always does. And so beautifully too. With calm and style.

Just imagine how thrilled I am to discover that Wodehouse wrote lyrics for musicals! Yes, indeedy! I have found a whole list of musicals hereto-unheard-of-by-me, with titles like:

Miss 1917

The Girl With The Gun

The Golden Moth

Sitting Pretty

I have also discovered two that I have heard of: 'Show Boat' (which had great songs but was a terrible bore) and 'Anything Goes' (which I haven't seen but am dying to because I love the songs so very much!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6vxeROJS3s

Percy continued to stare before him like a man who has drained the wine cup of life to its lees, only to discover a dead mouse at the bottom.

I turned to Aunt Agatha, whose demeanour was now rather like that of one who, picking daisies on the railway, has just caught the down express on the small of the back.

The Inimitable Jeeves (1923)

A while ago I read a biography of J. M. Barrie. It was disillusioning and disappointing, as just about all biographies are, but I learned this incredibly fabulous fact. The very clever author of 'Peter Pan' created a cricket club with a great many of the other clever and wonderful writers of his time! It included such luminaries as: H.G Wells, Arthur Conan Doyle, Jerome K Jerome, G.K. Chesterton, A.A. Milne and P. G. Wodehouse. In a spectacular burst of self-indulgence I (quite accidentally, too) I bought books by Wodehouse, Chesterton and Jerome, all without remembering their singular connection! Now, I adore just about all of these writers, and I have decided that if ever a time machine were to come into my possession I would make my first stop a visit to one of these cricket matches, and I would watch in adoration as my heroes lost heroically, because they were reportedly the worst cricket players of their time...
Whilst I'm on the subject of good things, I have just remembered a diary entry of, let me see... there is no date, but I noted that it was a Wednesday, in August; in which I listed things that affected my mental health. I rather like the lists I made.

Things that are good for my sanity:
Genevieve
David Tennant
Tea
Oscar Wilde
Flight Of The Concords
Singing
Oranges
Kristen
P G Wodehouse


Things that dent my sanity:

Changing trains
Falling asleep on my bedroom floor (an unfortunately common occurrence)
Onions
Carelessness
Emo lyrics
And toddler tantrums



And now I must say 'Toodle pip, old crumpet!' until next time :)

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.

Hi, me here.

This morning I left my house dressed rather awfully in frayed jeans (I never need to ask 'Does my backside look like the side of a barn in these?' It does.) and a hideous tracksuit jacket with an Australia ensigna on the breast and native animal pattern lining. I felt ugly - or at least very plain - so I decided to try out a theory: will people behave differently if I am dressed differently? I don't think I got an answer to that question, but what I did find out is that, if you smile and look people in the eye as you pass them (at least people who are nearly home in Lewisham after a long days work elsewhere) you just about always get a genuine smile back. I tried this all the way to the train station, and then had to stop, because smiling sweetly at strangers doesn't come off so well when you're trapped elbow to elbow in a stifling crowd of unhappy commuters at peak hour.

It made my afternoon.

Have my laptop back from the repairshop now, after not having it for months, and I have a problem. I can't remember the password!

I have bought a ridiculous amount of books recently. Only today I bought myself Edward De Bono's 'Six Thinking Hats', which has some excellent ideology, even if it is as cheesy as anything. http://www.mindtools.com/pages/article/newTED_07.htm

I also bought 'An Equal Music' by Vikram Seth, because I really did enjoy 'A Suitable Boy' - all apart from the ending. And when I went to Koorong last weekend, I splurged and bought a book for each of my siblings. Which was partially selfish, since I planned to read them all myself! 'I Kissed Dating Goodbye', 'Every Young Woman's Battle' and 'Do Hard Things' for J, Woo and Jel respectively. Already read the last two and most of the first. Inspiring stuff. I have discovered that I am a rebelutionary! And have been for years, without knowing it :)


http://www.therebelution.com/index.php

I also bought a gigantic tub of The Yoghurt Of Bliss today, so I have been very happy with my blessings...





OK, just pretend this is a new blog entry, for your own convenience.
When I was at Koorong I bought another book, a book for myself. I had already read it and only bought it because it impacted me so much and I now want to lend it to everybody I know. At least, all the girls. This book is 'Captivating' by John and Stasi Elderege. It's about God's design of women and our special role in Creation. I never before would have thought that God had designed me to be beautiful! That I have an important role to play that does not just require my dutiful service. These and many other things made this book an awesome read. So read it. Please.