If there is a perennial topic of discussion amongst booklovers, this is it. Which is better?
The two media have different audiences and methods of consumption. The movie goes deeper into our senses. We are, in a sense, living the experience. We often do it in smaller or larger groups. It is like sitting around a campfire listening to a storyteller in company. The responses and body language of the audience are part of the experience.
In a movie, there are – usually – other human beings to watch. We decode their facial expressions, speech patterns, body language in familiar ways.
In a book, we are interacting with our own mind. The book is our imaginary friend – मनस् – talking to us. In one sense, it is deeply intimate; the author’s internal talking voice is speaking directly in our own heads. In another sense, we must do all the work of sensation and perception. We translate the few sparse words of description into our own imagination.
If an author describes something in words, we have to build the scene for ourselves. A “city on a green hill overlooking a broad river with lofty mountains in the distance” seems specific enough. Yet, if a book has a million readers, there will be a million subtly different ideas about the scene. Do the mountains have snow on them? Is there a wall around this city? And so on.
So we cannot really directly compare book with movie. It comes down to individual perception. When I read the book, I wonder if the images I create in my head are better or deeper. Are they more satisfying than the ones presented on screen?
The people providing the product are different. An author works alone for a while and publishes a book. They may receive input from others, such as an editor or an illustrator. However, this is nothing like the hundreds or thousands of people needed to make a movie. It is rare for the book’s author to write the screenplay.
And, something we see often, which came first makes a huge difference. If I see Breakfast at Tiffany’s before I read the book, I envision big-eyed Audrey Hepburn. I also picture Mickey Rooney’s unfortunate Japanese gentleman to the strains of Moon River. The book cannot compete with that.
But if I read the book first, I necessarily know more. I know the details that the movie skips over. It is a rare movie – and a slender book – that fits in everything from the book. I know why Holly Golightly is living in Manhattan. I also know what she is running from. The movie certainly doesn’t show that on screen.
Given the different ways we perceive and consume the media, this question does not have a definitive answer. It is all in the mind – and the heart – of the reader/viewer. If we are emotional beings, we prefer whichever gives the more satisfying experience. If we are creatures of logic, we chew over the details. Did Tolkien really see the mighty river Anduin as a shallow, braided, New Zealand stream?
It really comes down to democracy or consensus because there cannot be a right or wrong answer. The Sound of Music and the 1949 book The Trapp Family Singers are worlds apart. The movie is fabulous, iconic, and the book little known. At least in the English-speaking world. In Austria the film is a bizarre outrage against history, truth, and common sense.
This is my internal commentary on why I prefer some stories as films. I prefer others as books. Perhaps I am being long-winded.
“The Bridges of Madison County” is a gem of a movie. The book wasn’t bad. It had somewhat odd sex scenes. However, Clint Eastwood and Merrill Streep lifted the story to a new level. In my eyes, anyway. The love affair is so direct and raw. One wonders how these two characters could not have a happy ever after. Two drifters, off to see the world, delighting in every detail, delighting in each other. We can imagine them watching the sun rise over China ‘cross the bay. It happens after a night of passion. They are both exactly where they should be in a perfect world.
And yet, that would be such a cop out. Such a betrayal. Such selfishness. Such self-indulgence.
We feel the conflict and the pain. Francesca’s hand reaches out and grasps the handle of her husband’s truck. Meanwhile, Robert Kincaid stands in the rain. His heart pours down his face. I forget how the book describes it but I cannot forget that moment.
Book and movie can be consumed in an afternoon. One of those rare instances where each contains the entirety of the other, apart from a few details.
And, to add to the sparkle, the story is one you either love or hate. There seems to be no middle ground.
Me, I love it. I love it so much I was inspired to write my own homage, a variation on the theme. There’s even the words of the little-known third verse of Moon River!
I’ll talk about my novel some more soon. For those wanting to know more, here it is. It includes a generous preview section on Amazon.
Ah, no movie … yet.
Britni
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