It’s a cliche that readers will say of a movie, “the book was better.” That’s not surprising. A good book takes you inside the characters like a movie never could. It immerses you in a world for days (or weeks, if you read at may speed) instead of a couple of hours. And, provided you have a developed imagination, the images you see will be vibrant and memorable in a good book.
Of course, there are exceptions. I’ve read most of Philip K. Dick’s novels and many of his short stories, but I prefer the movies Bladerunner and Minority Report to the Dick’s texts. The Godfather movies (I&II) are classic. The book, not so much. Jaws the movie is much better than Benchley’s book. Did working on the script give him a second chance? Was it cowriter Gottlieb or director Spielberg? Or was the material more cinematic?
On Jaws, I’d go for the last. Getting into the characters’s heads directly (a strength of books) wasn’t helpful in a story where external conflicts and their development through the plot are so powerful. And visually rich.
I’m pondering these because I have just been part of Zoom sessions looking at the strengths and weakness of novels, films, poems, fiction podcasts (radio theater), stage plays, and television (or Web series). The discussions were wonderfully free range, with opinions, advice, and examples. As it happens, I’ve worked in all these areas, and that includes some adaptation. One short story of mine became a stage play and then was optioned for a film. So I’ll take what I heard, mix it with my own experiences, and present it here. You may want to add a grain of salt.
For me, while movies can be dialogue rich and require few visuals, they provide a great way to tell stories that feature images. A test I put all my film scripts through is imagining how they might be presented as silent movies. The power is most evident when forcing attention or perspective. Some of the most memorable movie moments for me were where I wanted to look away and couldn’t (e.g., moments in Aliens, On the Waterfront, and The Untouchables). In addition to taking people out of their comfort zones, movies can guide you through wonderful but uncanny dreams, like Big Fish.
Perhaps the signature moment of directorial power is the close up. With the right actor and the right moment, the intimacy can be overwhelming. But pacing and energy can be driven, too, through camera movement and editing (fast or languid). Spectacle (which is often outside of story values, but still entertaining) represent another case of leveraging the visual for entertaining films. Set pieces such as explosions and big monsters have their place. All of these, by the way, may or may not be in the hands of the writer. (There are some ways, for instance, to suggest a close-up without insulting the director by calling for it in the script.)
(Comics are not an area of expertise for me, but I suspect they are much like movies. Before I could read, I pored through the Sunday comics. I loved that Ferd’nand told stories with no words at all, but I got more out of Lil’ Abner and Prince Valiant, where I was forced to invent my own stories.)
This is not to say that dialogue (along with things usually beyond the writer, like music) isn’t of major importance to some of the best films made. But dialogue, at this point is more important in television (with roots in radio and small screens) so far.
Stage plays absolutely rely on dialogue. However, more than with films and tv, stage dialogue is often stylized. So stories that take advantage of the rhythms and sounds within dialogue to make language into a kind of emotional music may fit best on the stage.
Of course, poetry, except as it sits on the page (e.g., with e e cummings), is about word choice, rhythm, and sounds. In my experience, the richest poetry not only invites repeated readings (including reading out loud), but requires it for fuller understanding. Often, poetry does not tell a story, but epic poems, like the Iliad, have become cornerstones of culture and invite performance and memorization. Poetry is a difficult form, but its close cousin, song lyrics is worth exploring. For storytellers who might not recognize the opportunities, I recommend traditional folk songs and country music. Note how effectively Breaking Bad used Marty Robbins’s “El Paso” (also, “Felina”) to place a story within a story.
Next week, I’ll provide some rough rules of thumb for choosing how to tell your story. Also, some thoughts on adaptation.
No comments:
Post a Comment