The Adaptation Issue

TRINITY FILM REVIEW

adaptation issue

trinity film review volume 11, issue 2: The adaptation issue

A Note from the editor Happy new term!

Welcome to the first full-sized edition of Trinity Film Review this season. It’s cold outside, deadlines are painfully due, and all you want to do is get home and curl up with a good movie or book. So why not do both?

The theme of this term’s issue is “Adaptation”. Some of the most famous works of cinema in history began their lives as books, plays, short films, or even video games - and they’re truly a sight to behold. Any film that took shape as another artwork before its manifestation on the silver screen is considered a part of this. Stories, whether good or bad, can have such a profound impact on the lives of those that encounter them. Adapting them to film means that those stories will reach a wider audience than ever before, and breathe life into the original piece. I mean, isn’t that the dream of cinema? To have a life beyond the constraints of our physical forms? To give life to stories that have only lived in the spoken word? Stop me, I may be waxing far too poetic for an Editor’s Note.

A rousing round of applause for all of our contributors this term. This issue is one of the largest since the Review’s foundation, and it’s exceptionally exciting considering how many of these writers are brand new to the TFR team. The standard of content grows ever higher, and it’s all thanks to these fresh creative voices.

We hope you love it.

Reading is, after all, fundamental.

- hiram harrington 2

the tfr team: Editor Hiram Harrington Assistant Editors Lora Hartin Eoin O’’Donnell Alison Traynor Layout & Design Hiram Harrington Eoin O’’Donnell Alison traynor Contributors jack coen-doyle seamus conlon aaron finnegan tom fleming sophie furlong tighe steven hanrahan savvy hanna Hiram harrington Lora Hartin ellen jacob connor howlett liam kelly grace mcentee barry murphy marketa ni eithir andrew o’conghaile Eoin O’’Donnell patrick O’’Donoghue marieke oggel kate l. ryan mia sherry buse tobin Alison Traynor hugh whelan Special thanks to lauren and milena of the trinity publications committee, and eoin’s mam.

This publication is funded partly by The DU Trinity Publications Committee. This publication claims no special rights or privileges. All serious complaints may be directed towards chair@trinitypublications.ie or Chair, Trinity Publications, House 6, Trinity College, Dublin 2. Appeals may be directed to the Press Council.

Get involved with Trinity Publications on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, or email secretary@trinitypublications.ie

Contents Iconic Director

4-5

king of adaptations 26-27

Savvy Hanna | Francis Ford Coppola

Hiram Harrington

netflix gems

6-7 8

Hugh Whelan | The Beach

the best adaptation

28

Liam Kelly | Marieke Oggel

Jack Coen Doyle | Steven Hanrahan | Eoin O’Donnell

The worst adaptation

shorts that started it

9

film reviews

29-31

Tom Fleming | The Farewell Mia Sherry | The Goldfinch Connor Howlett | Joker

Seamus Conlon | No Country For Old Men

Iconic shot

10-11

Lora Hartin| Trainspotting

best of the medium

12

Andrew O’Conghaile | Sophie Furlong Tighe

best of the genre

13

Ellen Jacob | Grace McEntee

Books vs. Films

14-17

Cian Mhac Loclainn | Patrick O’Donoghue | Buse Tobin

adapting real life

18-19

Eoin O’Donnell

scenes we’d like to see

20-21

Aaron Finnegan | Mia Sherry

Characters: ruined/realised 22-23 Marketa Ni Eithir | Marieke Oggel | Kate L. Ryan | Alison Traynor

the adapted world

24-25

Barry Murphy | The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

3

iconic director:

francis ford coppola What does it take to create a film from an existing creative work?

Some directors do it better than others. coppola does it best.

Francis Ford Coppola is an Academy Award winner, the son of a famous composer, an inspiration for the character of Han Solo, a wine lover, and most importantly, a director with an incredible ability to adapt novels to the big screen. Coppola was one of the directors associated with the New Hollywood movement of the 1970s, which gave more power and control to directors in the filmmaking process, when previously it had been almost solely the producers and studios that had control over how films were made.

While Coppola had been making films since he enrolled in UCLA Film School in 1960, it wasn’t until the release of his adaptation of Mario Puzo’s 1972 crime novel, The Godfather, that he received international critical acclaim for his directing. Coppola was asked to direct the film adaptation because the studio wanted an Italian-American director for the mafia film, and Sergio Leone had turned it down. Although Paramount criticised Coppola’s script, casting choices, and style of filmmaking during production, The Godfather went on to win three Academy Awards and was the highest-grossing film ever made until Jaws was released in 1976.

The Godfather is one of few films to be widely considered better than the book it was adapted from, not because the book is bad, but because the film is one of the greatest movies of all time. While Puzo’s novel stayed

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on The New York Times Best Seller list for sixty-seven weeks, nothing can compare to the cinematic and cultural impact of Coppola’s film. Coppola went on to make The Godfather Part II in 1974, which is considered by many to be even better than the original, and The Godfather Part III in 1990, which is, well, not as good as the other two, but is still an Academy Award nominated film that completes the story of Michael Corleone.

Although The Godfather is what made Coppola a household name, my first experience with Coppola was watching another of his adaptations.

Like many other people who attended school anytime between 1967 and now, I first heard of S. E. Hinton’s The Outsiders when I had to read it in English class. My second year class became strangely obsessed with the novel, and we convinced our teacher to let us watch the film so many times in class that by the end of the year we were able to recite the dialogue along with the characters.

It was, in fact, this teenage obsession with the novel that influenced Coppola to make a film version of The Outsiders, as a school librarian from California wrote to Coppola on behalf of her students asking him to adapt their favourite novel. Coppola was inspired by the letter, and the film adaptation of The Outsiders was released almost exactly three years after the letter was sent. The film is notable for its up-and-coming cast and

for creating a new kind of filmmaking which focused on a realistic look at how teenagers experience the world.

“.... Nothing can compare to the cinematic and cultural impact of Coppola’s filM.” Years later, Coppola’s granddaughter was reading The Outsiders in her class, and invited him in to show the class his film. Coppola then realised that he was embarrassed to show the children a version of the film which left out so much of the book.

In 2005, Coppola released a director’s cut which he titled The Outsiders: The Complete Novel. For this version, Coppola reinserted many deleted scenes which had been removed by producers, changed the music to what the characters would have listened to, and overall created a film which was much truer to the book.

Coppola also adapted another S. E. Hinton book, Rumble Fish, which he filmed back-to-back with The Outsiders, using much of the same cast and crew. Rumble Fish was received nega-

tively upon its initial release because of how far Coppola had strayed from typical Hollywood conventions. Inspired by German expressionism and French New Wave cinema, the film’s avant-garde style was seen as too experimental for Hollywood. Rather than film a close adaptation of the book, Coppola used an experimental style and soundtrack to build upon the emotions found in the novel. Coppola shot the film with high-contrast black and white film, and used colour sparingly throughout the film, which evoked the feeling of film noir, as well as representing a character’s colour blindness. Coppola was drawn to make the film because he related to the relationship between the brothers in the book, and even dedicated the film to his older brother August.

Although the film was negatively received and a box office bomb, Coppola named Rumble Fish as one of his favourites of his own films.

not hard to see why Coppola is called an iconic adaptations director – his work over the past five decades has cemented him as one of the best filmmakers of all time, and his most critically acclaimed and influential films are books that he transformed into cinematic masterpieces.

savvy hanna

“coppola has

inspired many other directors to adapt books into films”

Unlike other books that Coppola has adapted into films, which had never been seen on the big screen before, over 200 film versions of Dracula have been made, going back as far as the 1920s. Coppola’s version, however, changed how the character of Dracula, and vampires in general, are viewed in popular culture. Coppola’s film presented Dracula as a tragic hero rather than a villain, which is reminiscent of Michael Corleone from The Godfather. Coppola also wanted to keep his film closer to the plot of the book than previous ver sions, hence his decision to put the book’s author in the title of his film.

I first watched Bram Stoker’s Dracula in an attempt to watch all of Keanu Reeves’ films (I’ve seen twenty-five so far), and, despite Reeves’ strange British accent and acting choices (his performance is better in the other 24 films), the film was met with critical acclaim and is the only Dracula adaptation to win an Academy Award. The film also helped to re-spark my interest in vampires after Twilight ruined them for me.

As well as his own work in adaptations, Coppola has inspired many other directors to adapt books into films, including his own daughter, Sofia Coppola, whose directorial debut was an adaptation of the book The Virgin Suicides, with Francis Ford Coppola working as co-producer. It’s

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netflix gems based on the book

the big short jack coen-doyle What do you get when you put the person who best portrayed Batman (no, not Ben Affleck, what’s wrong with you?), one of the funniest TV show actors of the last decade, and one of the two heartthrob Ryans all into one film? A genuinely good movie about economics! Okay, I know it sounds like a terrible joke, but The Big Short is one of the best film adaptations streaming on Netflix right now.

The world was irrevocably changed after the financial crash of 2008. But how much do we really know about why it happened, beyond the fact that some banks screwed us over?

In The Big Short, director and writer Adam McCay adapts Michael Lewis’s

Matthew Vaughn made his name around the turn of the century producing Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch for Guy Ritchie. It was this experience that made him the ideal candidate to bring J.J. Connolly’s 2000 novel Layer Cake to the big screen. The outcome of this collaboration is one of the most enter-

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Our contributors have chosen their best of the best from their watchlists for these Netflix Gems. these are the top films on the streaming platform that began their lives as adaptations.

book about the financial crisis, in an attempt to explain what happened and point the finger squarely at those responsible.

yourself about shorting the American economy.

In an astute move, probably anticipating the film’s potential to be boring, the film casts heavyweights like Christian Bale (playing well against type), a potty-mouthed Steve Carell, and Ryan Gosling (sporting a truly terrible perm). Even in the most financially-complex moments in the film, these actors keep your attention on-screen and make macro-financing compelling and approachable.

Using fourth-wall breaks, a fast-paced but understandable script, and a smattering of cameos from the likes of Brad Pitt and Margot Robbie, McCay creates the most riveting and exciting film about the world of finance possible. So go on, throw your feet up, stick on Netflix, and educate

taining dives into the British criminal underworld currently on Netflix.

Before he was Bond, Daniel Craig played the unnamed antihero of this film; a cocaine dealer with aspirations of retiring from the drug business early. Supposedly, it was this very role that led to him being cast as the sixth iteration of 007 two years later, and it’s not difficult to see why. His charisma is on full display here: cocky and charming in equal measure, but tempered with an undercurrent of barely-controlled desperation and paranoia that only increases in intensity as his situation worsens.

It’s a performance that perfectly matches the film surrounding it.

Vaughn gradually cranks up the tension with each bizarre encounter and shocking revelation. Short bursts of action provide a much-needed re-

based on the novel

layer cake steven hanrahan lease, such as a particularly inspired beatdown set to the soaring guitar solo of Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World”.

The fact that Layer Cake is as coherent as it isis a testament to the film’s screenplay, which was written by Connolly himself. He manages to retain his novel’s dual plots, stripping away anything that isn’t immediately relevant to the overall story being told. Sharp dialogue and consistently kinetic editing also contribute to the film’s fast pace, resulting in an electrifying 105 minutes that both demands and rewards your attention.

based on the tv series

el camino eoin o’donnell Breaking Bad is far from a story that lacked an ending, but somehow this six-year-late coda El Camino feels like a natural, sincere send-off to the series, as well as a satisfying film in its own right.

With pretty much the entire cast and crew populated by returning faces from the series, El Camino is as much a reunion for the Breaking Bad crew as it is for the audience. Series creator Vince Gilligan returns as director, retaining the trademark visual style of the series through frantic editing and increasingly abstract POV shots, making it a comfortable transition to film. In truth, it feels just like a twohour episode of the series, and that’s

by no means a bad thing- Gilligan pulls the audience right back into the world he so carefully crafted for one last journey.

akin to a modern Wild West. Jesse isn’t a hero, he’s just an outlaw who’s suffered for his crimes, and all we can hope for is that he finds peace.

Aaron Paul’s Jesse leads the film, a character who was originally supposed to exit the series within the first season, but thanks to Paul’s charisma became a series mainstay to the very end. Paul slips right back into character after the six-year break, delivering a varied and impressively understated performance between the film’s various timeframes.

The film leaves us with no big revelations or twist endings - in fact, by its finale, the story is left almost exactly where it picked up. El Camino isn’t supposed to be an earth-shattering blockbuster or the revenge porn fantasy it might seem like it’s setting up. It’s a quiet, reflective film about crime, guilt, and redemption, and both a fitting tribute and touching epilogue to one of television’s greatest stories. Whether you’re flicking through Netflix for a quick watch or you’ve just polished off your fifth re-viewing of Breaking Bad, you can do far worse than El Camino.

Narratively, the series’ jump to film hasn’t prompted an escalation to a bombastic action franchise; the focus remains on the consequences and aftermath of crime and personal corruption. Gilligan draws most clearly from classic Western anti-heroes; The seedy underworld of small-town America that Gilligan has laid out feels

7

the worst The beach (Danny boyle, 2000) A debut novel that follows a backpackers’ adventure to a mystery beach in Thailand, The Beach enjoyed an unprecedented amount of success and critical acclaim upon its initial release. Long before Ex-Machina and Annihilation, Alex Garland wrote The Beach when he was just twenty-six, fresh off the backpacker circuit himself. The novel sold close to 700,000 copies within the first three years of its publication, and became regarded as a zeitgeist novel that captured the backpacker spirit of the nineties.

The novel itself is no literary masterpiece, but it does contain a variety of nuanced thematic ideas on the issues surrounding middle-class backpacker culture and the ennui experienced by post-war “Generation X” young people. The fast-paced plotline and compelling exotic setting made it a perfect candidate for filmic adaptation. Who better to take on the task than director Danny Boyle, fresh off the back of his enormous success with the 1996 adaptation of Trainspotting?

With Danny Boyle attached as director and John Hodge (who also adapted Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting) as adaptive screenwriter, things were looking promising for The Beach.

Combine Boyle and Hodge with Tilda Swinton, Leonardo DiCaprio in his first role since Titanic, and permission from Thai officials to film in the Ko Phi Phi Island marine park, and you have the perfect storm.

Unfortunately, Boyle’s adaptation of The Beach (2000) is less of a perfect storm and more of a disastrous tornado of mistakes and bad filmmak-

ing. The film was critically panned, and currently holds a 20% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. For Boyle, DiCaprio, and Swinton respectively, the film is an oft-forgotten blip in their otherwise long and illustrious careers.

But what was it exactly that went so wrong?

“.... it directly

contradicts [the novel’s] core ideals and thematic integrity.”

The primary flaws of the filmic adaptation of The Beach are the major changes to the film’s plot when compared to Garland’s source text. Adaptations aren’t necessarily expected to stay absolutely true to the novels they are based upon; however, it’s crucial that the adaptation retains some semblance of the world and core ideas that are constructed within the source novel.

In Boyle and Hodge’s adaptation, there are at least twenty significant changes from plot points within Garland’s novel. Some are relatively harmless: for example, Richard (Leonardo DiCaprio) is an American in the film, but an Englishman in the novel. However, the film makes woefully-misguided changes to the romantic subplots contained within the novel.

One of the sustaining storylines of the novel is Richard’s unrequited love for Françoise, which is drastically altered in the film.

Furthermore, a love plot between Richard and Sal (Tilda Swinton) is fabricated in the film seemingly out of thin air. It’s unclear what the rationale behind these changes was. For fans of the book, these changes from the source text create an unnecessary and jarring viewing experience, as some of the novel’s best character relationships are done away with or altered drastically.

In addition to transgressive deviations from the plot, Boyle’s adaptation also caused irreversible damage to the Thai beach on which it was filmed.

For “aesthetic purposes”, portions of of the natural beach setting of Ko Phi Phi Leh were bulldozed to make it more “paradise-like”. This resulted in permanent damage to the local ecosystem and a lawsuit. In recent years, the increased tourist traffic to the island resulted in environmental damage to the bay and the nearby coral reefs, prompting the Thai authorities to close the beach until 2021.

Irony abounds in the gross environmental mishaps of The Beach’s production: while Garland’s novel was intended as a critique of the invasive nature of backpacker culture, the film actually managed to cause permanent damage to the local ecosystem, epitomising everything that is wrong with Western tourist culture in Thailand and the surrounding area.

Boyle’s adaptation goes further than deviating from the source material it is based upon; it directly contradicts its core ideals and thematic integrity. Ultimately, The Beach is a story of wasted potential and poor decision making. It’s a confusing, overcooked mess that fails utterly in its attempts to capture the nuances of Garland’s novel.

hugh whelan

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Widely regarded as the Coen brothers’ magnum opus, No Country For Old Men retells Cormac McCarthy’s modern tale of violence, chaos, and murder among the stark and unforgiving plains of West Texas.

When Llewllyn Moss (Josh Brolin) comes across the aftermath of a drug deal gone awry, he discovers a suitcase containing two million dollars and is relentlessly pursued by Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a calculated and violent psychopath. Meanwhile, Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) tries to make sense of the chaos and uphold his own moral values. Much to the dismay of Coen brothers purists, the film is a far cry from the likes of The Big Lebowski and Raising Arizona. Instead, the directors deliver McCarthy’s serious, minimalist, and transcendent writing style to the big screen along with the profound literary messages of his short novel.

The typical zany, fast paced Coen brothers speech is replaced by more restrained dialogue as the brothers reproduced much of the script directly from the 2005 novel. Subsequently, characters portrayed in the film accurately represent the social norms of the American South through their use of flowery language in brief and simple exchanges. The directors’ characterizations deliver a spot-on portrayal

of the author’s typically intelligent and masculine characters. Presenting the unexplained plots of Moss, Bell, and Chigurh as they are in motion serves to engage the audience. Placing the audience behind the character in terms of situational understanding leaves us scratching our heads and transfixed as the complicated plot unfolds from three simultaneous angles.

“The film delivers McCarthy’s most powerful literary messages seamlessly....”

When Brolin’s character extracts the two million from a motel room occupied by Mexican gangsters using tent poles and coathangers, the directors offer clues into Moss’s thought processes with quick-cut closeups and the framing of key objects. The Coens take creative liberties, however, in creating comic relief through depicting Deputy Wendell (Garret Dillahunt) and Carson Wells (Woody Harelson) as more typically quirky Coen brothers characters.

The film delivers McCarthy’s most

powerful literary messages seamlessly with excellent acting and provocative production techniques. Like McCarthy, the Coens portray violence as brutal, real, and unromantic, delivering an important social commentary about the nature of violence in America. Bardem’s performance as the sociopathic antagonist is uniquely terrifying, especially in today’s political context. Like many action movie antagonists, Chigurh is unpredictable and sadistic. However, he is profoundly terrifying because of his calmness and belief that his use of brutal violence is not only justified, but necessary, which is exemplified through the iconic coin toss scenes.

But little is done to critique or diminish Chigurh’s philosophy. No Country’s seven minutes of score convey McCarthy’s stark message that the universe is indifferent towards violence.

Tommy Lee Jones perfectly executes portraying man’s struggle with the brutal, unforgiving nature of modern violence, contrasted by the silence of morality, law, and God. Finally, he comes to the realization that mayhem is inherently unpredictable and the only way to prevent its spread is by persevering one’s own moral code: “To have to put his soul at hazard and say, okay. I’ll be a part of this world.”

Seamus conlon

the best

no country for old men (The Coen brothers, 2007)

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iconic shot:

Trainspotting Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting is like a game of visual chicken. An ambitious adaptation of Irvine Welsh’s novel of the same name; the film puts a lens up to the epidemic that ravished a generation, and it doesn’t pull any punches. Portraying the dizzying highs and catastrophic lows of a group of best friends and Heroin-addicts in Edinburgh in the late 80s, it’s an exhilaratingly difficult watch; full of masterful shots that consistently compel the viewer to keep their eyes on the screen, even when all other instincts might be telling them to do the opposite.

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Boyle’s cult classic is grit personified; the kind of film that keeps you wondering what concoction of condiments the props department was using to make each new bodily fluid look so realistic. The director makes it his duty to show every angle, every ugly truth of the affliction that he explores. The film’s unrelenting nature can be viewed as a kind of a blueprint for later films like Requiem for a Dream and The Acid House, which take a similarly merciless stance on their depictions of addiction. Howev-

er, despite the wealth of iconic and visceral imagery that Trainspotting displays, the shot that has stood the test of time is perhaps one of its tamest: Mark Renton running like a madman down the streets of Edinburgh.

“Boyle

introduces his... protagonist with an opening shot that grabs the viewer with a vice-like grip.”

The iconic ‘Choose Life’ sequence has been quoted, imitated and rehashed countless times since the film’s initial release. Borrowed from the tagline of an 80s anti-drug campaign, the phrase ‘Choose Life’ has since become universally affiliated with Train-

spotting’s enlivening opening scene.

Boyle introduces his troubled protagonist with an opening shot that grabs the viewer with a vice-like grip. We see Renton and his gormless companion Spud tearing through the streets on a wild goose chase, miscellaneous items dropping from their jackets as they are pursued by two store clerks.

The intro to Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life plays alongside the chase in what is perhaps one of the most recognisable musical accompaniments in film history. If there’s one thing Danny Boyle knows, it’s how to score a film.

Boyle was criticised early in his career for his ‘MTV-era film construction’, with many publications insisting that his films were more like flashy music videos, stitched together to form a narrative. These remarks didn’t affect Boyle’s method, in fact, he owned up to his soundtrack strategy with pride, insisting that music was integral to our everyday lives and therefore belonged in the films that we watch.

The use of Iggy Pop in Trainspotting was a calculated choice. The deeply troubled ‘Godfather of Punk’ infa-

mously struggled with his own heroin addiction throughout his life and career, and the characters in the film reference him regularly. Iggy Pop held a kind of a torch for the troubled souls of Gen X; his messy antics and substance abuse was glamourised and adopted as a form of escapism for the lost generation, which can be viewed as a running theme throughout the film.

The skill with which Boyle incorporates the track in his opening shot is masterful; the unmistakable beat of the drums kicking along in tandem with the pounding of feet on the pavement, the single shot of a fearless Renton flashing on our screens just as the mischievous guitar riff kicks in. It’s pure invigoration, and it catches the viewer’s attention from the outset. Boyle knew his demographic, and his choice of artist and track reflects that perfectly.

“the audience

can see all the things that Renton is running from, both literally and figuratively.”

Accompanying the film’s opening track is Renton’s iconic voiceover,

providing a cutting monologue that would render even the most secure and settled subject scared shitless.

“Choose Life” Renton urges. “Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.” The following address descends into a total assassination of all things traditional. Renton makes ordinary life sound so mundane that we begin to rationalise his lifestyle of hard drugs and debauchery, because let’s face it, he makes it sound pretty exciting.

Playing over Boyle’s fast-paced tracking shot of Renton’s escape, the monologue serves to lend another meaning to the film’s opening sequence; the audience can see all the things that Renton is running from, both literally and figuratively. The path that Mark has chosen may be a questionable one, but he can just as easily question the choice to live like the other half do. In his own words, there are no reasons why he lives the way he does: “Who needs reasons, when you’ve got heroin?”

Boyle’s establishing shot not only gives us a glimpse into Renton’s character, but also into his heritage, and, indeed, the heritage of the film itself: Edinburgh. Although much of the principal photography took place in Glasgow, the opening sequence was filmed on Prince’s Street, one of Edinburgh’s busiest high streets. More than twenty years on, Trainspotting still holds huge cultural significance for Edinburgh. The book was also adapted for the stage, and productions of Trainspotting Live continue to sell-out at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival each year, as well as touring

around the world. Trainspotting is inextricably linked to Edinburgh, and Boyle’s ode to the city in his establishing shot instantly affirms this.

Although many people may remember Trainspotting for some of its more shocking imagery; (‘the worst toilet in Scotland’, the baby on the ceiling, the kitten in Tommy’s apartment), sometimes it’s the simple things that stick with us the most. Boyle’s establishing shot was the perfect introduction into the life of Renton and his friends.

It gave the audience a glimpse into Mark’s psyche, his background, his culture, his priorities. It set the pace for a story that never slowed down or let up, even in the lulling moments of drug use and sedation.

When Boyle decided to shoot a sequel twenty years on, much of the promotional material referenced this opening sequence, as did the film itself. Mark running down the street became something of a recurring motif, which is further testament to the lasting impact of the original film’s opening shot. Boyle knew exactly how to draw his audience in, and he did so with a visual that perfectly encapsulated the film’s themes and established his protagonist’s personality. Trainspotting throws a lot at its audience, but above all else it’s that opening sequence, that establishing shot which stays with the viewer when it ends.

Lora Hartin

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The best of the medium play-to-film

who’s afraid of virginia woolf? sophie furlong tighe Many film adaptations of plays are little more than live theatre screenings, bringing nothing new, and feeling uncomfortably stagnant. This issue should have been particularly difficult to combat in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), as it takes place in one room over one evening.

It is built to be theatrical in its most traditional form. But Mike Nichols’ film of the same name manages to faithfully retell the story, while injecting it with a new life.

The story is about two couples,

book-to-film

the godfather andrew o’conghaile There is a story, possibly apocryphal, about when Mario Puzo was asked to write a script for The Godfather II. Writing a new story for the screen was different from adapting his 1969 novel, and Puzo felt he wasn’t quite up to the task. Puzo purchased a book on screenwriting to better understand the craft, only to find its first piece of advice was to watch The Godfather.

Irony aside, it’s some pretty sound advice. The Godfather was a classic almost from the moment it premiered.

The final screenplay was a combined effort of Puzo and director Francis Ford Coppola, working separately to produce workable screenplays. The resulting story of the Corleone family, which deals with internal and external pressures of identity, security and

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some movies start as books, plays, games, and more. here are the very best in each form.

separated by an age gap, sharing a two am drink after a university faculty party. Alcohol and claustrophobia quickly create a powderkeg of friction.

The play is intimate and uncomfortable, with the two couples remaining in one house for the breadth of the piece. The film adapts the play well with an incredibly similar script. But close shots of the actor’s faces and frequent zooms show an intimate understanding of cinematic tools which are unique from theatre.

Unlike the stage director, Nichols can have actors look exactly where he would like whenever he wants.

standard. They’re sharp, engaging, and uncomfortably naturalistic at times. It’s difficult to adapt plays.

They frequently have non-naturalistic, stilted dialogue, and can rely heavily on the transience of the experience. It’s harder to be visceral in film, but Nichols manages to do it, and makes it look easy.

It’s the performances of Taylor and Burton which really elevates this piece to the “best of the medium” obsolescence, is utterly enthralling.

The cast of The Godfather feels almost like an ensemble film considering the talent on display. James Caan’s fiery Sonny and Robert Duvall’s calm Tommy wonderfully power much of the first act. Diane Keaton’s turn as Kay Adams provides the only window into the life of the Cosa Nostra, the only person for whom mob hits aren’t a normal thing. The legendary performance of Marlon Brando’s Vito Corleone brought forward the popular idea of the mafia boss from which real life gangsters began to model themselves on.

But the true star of The Godfather is Al Pacino. The evolution of Pacino’s character Michael is slow, steady, and so incredibly clear that his developed character feels entirely divorced from where he started. Contrasting early scenes with Kay Adams with the final gut-wrenching shot of mobsters kissing his hand, we see all warmth, and perhaps all humanity, has been drained from him: there is no more Mike, only Michael Corleone remains.

Unlike other wonderful adaptations, the source material for The Godfather is simply good. For all it’s strengths, it

can feel like a slog, with a number of side plots that the film adaption wisely excludes. Instead, we focus entirely on Michael’s rise to power.

While much of the film occurs in the form of arguments over dinner, and conversations in a darkened office with the boss behind a large mahogany desk, (which subsequently became staples of gangster movies), we still get some of the most iconic scenes in film history. Vito Corleone meeting well-wishers and those seeking favours on the day of his daughters wedding, the horses head, “Leave the gun, take the cannoli”; all of these scenes are pivotal in understanding the kind of person we are watching. All are fantastic to watch.

The fast cuts between a baby being baptised and the enemies of the Corleone family being murdered is one of the greatest sequences in film history, and it’s a juxtaposition that can only be achieved in film.

The Godfather is the best example of using the strengths of one medium to build upon the strengths of another.

The Godfather isn’t just one of the best adaptations of all time - it’s one of the greatest films ever made.

genre transcends medium. so, what to-screen adaptations are the best examples of their style of storytelling?

The best of the genres

book-to-animation

fantastic mr. fox ellen jacob Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) is an entertaining and visually stunning adaptation of Roal Dahl’s 1970 classic. The film centres on a fox (voiced by George Clooney nonetheless) who steals food from farmers, but he and other animals become embroiled in a turf-war once the farmers seek revenge.

and Anderson designed a stop-motion version that sets itself apart from the previous hand-drawn renditions.

Anderson’s unique take on the classic is expressed with the aid of production designer Nelson Lowry and animation director Mark Gustafon, both bringing the distinctive visual style to life. They form a film in which even the smallest details are crafted with care, creating an immersive world wherein foxes wear suits and rats can wield switchblades.

The film is funny, touching, and will have you crying over a family of clay foxes by the end.

Many of us are familiar with Quentin’s Blake illustrations of the original tale,

book-to-coming of age

stand by me grace mcentee Stand By Me shows four twelve year-old boys’ journey to find a dead body, and consequently to find maturity as they leave their childhood behind. It’s sweet at times, owing mostly to the closeness between protagonist Gordie (Wil Wheaton) and his best friend Chris (River Phoenix). It’s also got sublimely comedic moments coming from the group’s dynamic which is all too close to reality, calling back to the silly conversations that seem to matter most when you’re kids (but seriously, what the hell is Goofy?).

It seems to handle both of these dynamics better than the Stephen King novella that it came from, due in part to one of River Phoenix’s most heartbreaking performances as Chris, a boy who’s been forced to grow up before his time.

It’s the ultimate bittersweet coming of age film; we all have to leave our childhood behind at some point, but God, isn’t it lovely before it ends?

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book vs. film the age old question is put to the test: which is better?

twilight twilight stephanie meyer (2005)

twilight catherine hardwicke (2008)

I suppose I should begin by admitting that there are maybe three adaptations of books to films that I actually like. In my deeply humble and wildly unqualified opinion, an adaptation will rarely, if ever, compare to its base material. If you read the book first, as I have made a point in my life to do (yeah, I’m that bitch), the movie just won’t be better. It can’t - the imagination will always win against any production budget.

In that vein, let’s talk about Twilight.

It’s hard to truly describe the feeling of what it was like to read Twilight for the first time as an eight year old.

American high schools? Deep, ‘true’, love? Death? Vampires? It was all so mysterious and dangerous - I knew it would be considered “too mature” by my parents, so I consumed those books like I was starving. I smugly watched the Twilight hype start up in the months to come, safe in my knowledge that I had read Twilight first, and marched into the theatre a year later to be utterly and wholly disappointed.

I could throw in a disclaimer here to keep my dignity, and tell you all that Twilight is bad. I’m not going to though. However I frame it, the facts are that watching Twilight took up a good, fat chunk of my preteen years.

And it wasn’t just me. Twilight, and vampires as an extension, became a cultural phenomenon. It doesn’t matter if it was good. Twilight, at this point, is beyond that. It kickstarted a generation of teenage girls who were now into bloody neck bites and dark mysterious men. Emo culture was already rife, and vampires fed into that system in a very natural way.

That said, I never liked the movies. I wasn’t alone in that - for every Twilight fanatic there was a Twilight hater. I hated on the movie fervently, touting to anyone who would listen that the books were better! I both agree and disagree with that statement now. The book will always be better to me because I read it first, but I also think they’re better because in my imagination, Edward could actually have an otherworldly beauty

“Emo culture was already rife, and vampires fed into that system in a very natural way.” instead of bad makeup, the scenes where he flits around were cool rather than badly CGI-ed, and Bella was earnest and interested instead of vapid and apathetic. Imagination, for me, is key. It also helps you to ignore the big red flags. The books are better is because all the things Edward does - watch Bella unknowingly while she sleeps, be tortured with his insatiable need to drink her blood, follow her around - are creepy when you see them played out before you. When it’s in a movie, and not your imagination, you see a literal man watch a

girl while she sleeps. He follows her to different cities, he gets possessive over her, and without Bella’s steadfast loyalty and reciprocal love, it’s all just kind of… gross.

It’s gross in the books too, of course, but when you are reading you can gloss over the bits you don’t like so much. A movie won’t do that - it’ll just show them, objectively and disturbingly in front of you.

Buse Tobin

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the shining the shining stephen king (1977)

the shining stanley kubrick (1980)

Stephen King has terrified readers for over four and a half decades. Adaptations of his work are still being produced and released today. However, there is one iconic translation that is notoriously reviled by the ‘Master of Horror and Suspense’. Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 horror may have many fans, but it certainly has its detractors.

Kubrick, whose daring and inventive filmmaking inspired people from Steven Spielberg to Christopher Nolan, was bold enough to take directing to an entirely new level with his intricate attention to detail. There is no denying the monoliths of modern cinema that have been the brainchildren of Hollywood’s quirkiest director, such as A Clockwork Orange and 2001: A Space Odyssey, and their importance to filmmaking history.

Comparing King’s 1977 novel and the 1980 adaptation, the differences are stark. While taking place in the same setting of an off-season hotel in the Rocky Mountains, it is clear that two very different stories are being told.

The novel explores the breakdown of an all-American family and has the luxury of delving deeper into the inner darkness of its patriarch Jack Torrance, and the malevolent history of the Overlook Hotel. King’s Torrance is not a villain, if anything he is a tragic hero in the Shakespearean mould, whose fall from grace drives the story. The novel also follows his son Danny far more closely. His mind-reading power - or ‘shining’ - is what awakens the dark spirits of the Overlook Hotel, firmly establishing the novel as a ‘ghost story’. Interestingly, some of the more terrifying moments in the novel were left out of production, and iconic images from the movie such as the twin girls and Jack’s ‘Here’s Johnny’ moment are add-ins to the movie.

The film takes a different approach in the casting of Jack Nicholson in the role of Jack Torrance, who gives a vibe from the character that he may be mentally deranged from the start.

This is not exactly helped by Nicholson’s penchant for playing characters who aren’t necessarily the most mentally stable, such as his performance in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

The opening scene of the job interview for the caretaker position does little to assure the audience that he is a man to be trusted. Jack Torrance is the true monster of the film; while

there are chilling supernatural encounters for Torrance, his wife Wendy, and Danny throughout the film, their influence is ultimately debatable. The film implies that cabin fever is the source of the terror the characters face rather than the malevolent spirits that haunt the isolated hotel.

One of the adaptation’s biggest sins is the portrayal of Wendy Torrance.

The novel gives a more detailed background for her relationship with Jack and Danny; from her insecurity of facing her domineering mother to her growing fears of Jack’s deteriorating mental state. The treatment (or rather, mistreatment) of Shelley Duval, who portrays Wendy, by Kubrick throughout production is notorious, and has been used to demonstrate the demands Kubrick was known to put on cast members during his films.

Naturally, this transforms Wendy from a strong and persevering character on the page to a blubbering weakling that stands no chance against her husband as he fully metamorphosizes into a monster during the last half hour of the movie.

“Comparing king’s

1977 novel and the 1980 adaptation, the differences are stark.”

While the film deserves praise for its direction, it is the book that wins this battle. This was King’s follow up to his bestselling debut novel Carrie, and it exceeded expectation. The darkness that King explores in the deterioration of family relationships is unlikely to be replicated, as he was beginning to enter a phase of his life where his alcoholism and drug addictions threatened to destroy him. King has been open in interviews in saying that the novel provided him an outlet to release the inner antagonism he began to feel towards his family. The Shining is arguably one of his more underappreciated works when contrasting the reception of It, Pet Semetary, and the Dark Tower series, and fans of the film should consider giving it a read as we near Halloween.

Cian Mhac Loclainn

american

psycho american psycho bret easton ellis (1991)

american psycho

“The characters snort, fuck, and gorge their way through a restless existence...”

mary harron (2000)

Undoubtedly, one of the biggest challenges faced by director Mary Harron in adapting Bret Easton Ellis’ scathing satire of capitalist thinking and behaviour for the big screen must have been in deciding how exactly to clearly draw the boundary between sensuous indulgence in the aesthetic depiction of violence, even downright depravity, and a glorification of it. However, given how ultimately hollow and agonisingly confused American Psycho’s protagonist and murderer-in-chief, Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale), is shown to be in the film, this is a challenge that Harron certainly overcame.

The film adaptation of American Psycho could never have pretended to be too far removed from what it ended up being: a merciless attack on the senses - the characters snort, fuck, and gorge their way through a restless existence; but, at times, it goes beyond being just that and that alone.

This is best illustrated by the opening scene in which the true surreality and illusory nature of Bateman’s killing sprees and general excess would later be contextualised. In this one scene,

Harron can at the very least be credited with capturing the very hallucinogenic driving force of the Ellis novel, as Bateman confesses “I simply am not there”.

But, more credit to her is due. Aside from placing her finger firmly on the moral pulse of the incendiary novel in her portrayal of Bateman’s gory exploits, Harron also succeeds in faithfully conveying our lead character’s maniacal obsession with the trappings of the ‘yuppie’ lifestyle.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the boardroom scene, in which Bateman compares business cards with other soulless young professionals, much in the same way as school children tease in the playground over who has the best pair of shoes, except for the fact that these business cards are not merely embossed networking tools: they are the artificial substitute for an identity. Such is the focus on Bateman’s expression of drooling awe as he takes in the subtleties and elegance of his rivals’ customised tokens that the moment is made all the more tragically (and comedically) delicious purely because it is manifested

in visual, rather than literary, form.

As events become further and further sucked into a whirlpool of chaos, Bateman’s faceless, branded world of Armani and Valentino no longer offers him refuge or protection from the painful realisation that he must confront his own emptiness - emotional and otherwise. As Harron ups the ante, we see Bateman losing grip of his last vestiges of sanity, and any semblance of his ordered life cracks irreparably.

Due to the scale and grandeur that a cinematic project permits, this sequence is realised and unleashed in an explosive flurry, which the book itself could only hint at. Cars bursting into flames, gunshots fired into the dark night in all directions, helicopters chopping through the New York skyline, chainsaws and blood on naked skin, all come into full view. Unfortunately, the imagination can only be stimulated to represent these details in a far less visceral or disturbing way when reading the novel. All the while, we feel that these absurd, almost fantastical acts hold some truth about the kind of dominant figures our current socio-economic system gives rise to, especially as Bateman seems to ride out these atrocities escaping all accountability - much like the kind of financial institutions he is a product of.

Harron keeps a tight grip of this truth throughout the film, never losing sight of Ellis’ real, original goal. And that truth is something along these lines: Bateman, much like the Capitalist system American Psycho takes aim at, has, but for a few hiccups, transcended the one thing that could possibly have saved him - a conscience.

patrick o’’donoghue 17

adapting real life committing a true story to film has its excitements, but also its challenges. what does it take to make a movie adaptation of a real person, place, or incident honest, but still good cinema?

the ‘tidiness’ of cinematic narratives and the complete mess that often characterizes history. There are key things that a story almost always needs: a protagonist and an antagonist, a conflict and a resolution. In adapting real life, often the narrative that truly shaped history needs to be retrofitted into these tidy categories of storytelling: a conflicted historical figure becomes a lionized hero, and anyone who crossed them becomes a moustache-twirling cartoon villain.

Such was the case with Braveheart, which among its litany of inaccuracies vilified and outright slandered another Scottish hero in Robert the Bruce, creating a cultural resentment for the figure that wouldn’t be reversed for over 20 years until he got his own ‘hero’ project in Outlaw King, where he was played by Chris Pine to ensure absolutely nobody could dislike him.

We even got our very own version of this in Neil Jordan’s Michael Collins, where one of modern Ireland’s founding fathers is reduced to just another one of Alan Rickman’s many iconic villains.

Plenty of films avoid traditional structures like this however, instead serving as character studies of figures throughout history. By shifting the focus away from the major world-changing events and towards the personality and motivations of the characters behind those moments, the simplified ‘good vs. evil’ narrative becomes far less important than achieving a satisfying character journey.

Putting real life to the screen has always been a challenge for filmmakers, and the results they’ve yielded have varied wildly in both structure and quality. Those writing the script need to nail the tricky balance between historical accuracy and a coherent narrative, and those putting it to the screen must both honour the people and events depicted while creating a compelling work of art. From biopics to war epics, historical adaptations have been a staple of cinema from its inception, and this dichotomy of history versus accuracy is always fascinating to dig into.

It seems that in adapting real lives or events, there’s always the core conflict that raises its head between

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“There’s always the core conflict that raises its head between the ‘tidiness’ of cinematic narratives and the complete mess that often characterizes history.”

Danny Boyles’ Steve Jobs is an abject failure in depicting the intimate details behind Apple’s rise, because it doesn’t try to do so- it focuses entirely on the character, a real person whose inner process was as fascinating as the events themselves.

Damian Chazelle’s First Man almost completely ignores the factors and breakthroughs that accomplished the moon landing, instead serving as an intensely intimate portrait of what such an undertaking would do to a man and his family. Andrew Dominik’s incredible but clumsily-named The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford takes place long after the thrilling events of the James gang, and instead works as a contemplative character-focused drama between him and his would-be assassin.

Sometimes in adapting real life, getting to the essence of a character is far more important than ensuring the accuracy of every detail; some of cinema’s most successful biopics have practically shrugged at history’s formative events, and rebelled against the generic structure for the genre.

There are also those who take the prioritization of character over accuracy one step further, outright inventing characters to inhabit the historical worlds they depict. By creating completely new characters within a historical setting, their narrative growth is completely unrestricted, and can be used as an overall representation of those who lived at the time or were present at the event. There never was a Private Ryan or Captain Miller in Normandy, but their struggles served to drive home the horror of war for everybody, representing not just specific figures in history, but an entire generation of men thrown into hell. There is, of course, an inverse outcome for this method too, wherein the victims of the Titanic tend not to be represented or honoured by the film’s characters, but in many ways overshadowed and forgotten in favour of Jack and Rose’s fictional romance.

“The ability to depict history on film is powerful as well as dangerous...”

Maybe one of cinema’s most powerful feats is the ability to transport us to times and places we could only previously imagine. Fincher’s painstaking recreation of 1960s San Francisco was undeniably impressive in Zodiac, but he had video, reference photos and real, living memory to build from. For those transporting us to Ancient Egypt or feudal Japan, with only text and crude, faded sketches to draw from, that task becomes a whole lot more difficult, and far more effective when done right. When used effectively, cinema can draw us in and become the only way to experience the sights and sounds of an era gone by. When it comes to ‘adapting

real life’, this is maybe where the abilities of film shine the most, becoming the defining sights and sounds of a period and the first representations of said eras that spring to mind; be it Leone’s westerns or Kurosawa’s samurai epics, we owe historical films a lot for how we now view periods in history.

When you’re both a history student and a film fan, however, the choices made by filmmakers in bringing these people and worlds to life become a whole lot more apparent, and can range from amusing to downright depressing. I never thought I’d side with a stuffy old history lecturer on the matter of film, but hearing him laughing at Braveheart and cursing the name of Mel Gibson for four years in a row somehow won me over. Accuracy isn’t at the core of a great historically-based film, and William Wallace certainly wouldn’t be as easy to emotionally invest in had he not been wearing his iconic kilt or had his love interest actually been thirteen yearsold, as was the case. The truth often did prove to be stranger than fiction, and certain choices frequently need to be made to streamline history into a believable, digestible story. These films, however, can so often create a very real living memory of figures and events that are disingenuous at best, and dangerous at worst. Film is undeniably a powerful medium, and

what a film depicts can have serious ramifications in a cultural or political sphere.

When adapting real life, what a filmmaker choses to depict or not to depict shapes a narrative in itself, and in examining how this historical narrative is shaped we can’t lose sight of the intentions and motivations behind these choices. Often these directorial decisions are purely narrative and harmless, but sometimes the motivations behind these choices are sinister and deeply harmful in their outcomes. D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation contributed to the revival of the Ku Klux Klan with the deeply racially-motivated historical fabrications used in its depiction of the American Civil War; propaganda and film go hand in hand, and adaptations of real life are perhaps the most fertile ground for it.

Art is inherently political in almost all of its forms, and just as we examine contemporary films on a thematic level for any meaningful subtext, the same attention should be paid towards the choices made in adapting real life. The ability to depict history on film is powerful as well as dangerous, and we shouldn’t lose sight of its potential for education, entertainment and influence on society.

Eoin o’donnell 19

Scenes We’d Like To See THE SECRET HISTORY and was met with middling, if not straight-up dismal reviews. Yet one big question that haunted its release was; why this novel? Why this, over the arguably superior Secret History? Well, there’s a long, convoluted and ‘secret’ history that involves a botched film set to be produced by Gwyneth Paltrow, followed by a miniseries to be written by Tartt ’s former classmate Brett Easton Ellis. Both projects fell through, and the road to The Goldfinch was so rocky that Tartt has now fallen out with her agent.

Basically: Tartt is protective of her work.

How to Get Away With Murder. Elite.

Even, to an extent, Hannibal and Mindhunter. Television shows (specifically those of the Netflix domain) that deal with all things dark and academic are on the up and up, and public appetite for them is only growing.

So this raises the question: why have we not seen an adaptation of the originator of such niche genre-crossing?

I am, of course, referring to Donna Tartt ’s The Secret History. Published in 1992, it tells the story of Richard Papen, who enrolls in a private university and quickly falls in with a close knit group of classicists. However, things take a dark turn as Richard falls deeper into their world. They reignite the ancient, speak in dead languages, and even go as far as to prey on the living.

Earlier this year, Tartt ’s third novel The Goldfinch was adapted into a film

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The true brilliance of The Secret History is the gradual and almost subconscious devolution into pure dread.

The further that Richard falls into the twisted exclusive classics group, the more this affects his insomnia. As his dreams and reality start to merge, the Greek tragedies he once adored start to feed into his everyday life, and the beauty he once searched desperately for becomes terror. When re-reading the novel for this article, I was struck by how perfectly contained and paced each chapter is; each one perfect for an hour-long episode. If it were, in fact, to be modelled on a Netflix-model, where the entire

series was released at once, then it would be the perfect binge-watch: able to devote itself to in-depth detail. Work for the producers would be minimal; thousands upon thousands of fancasts exist online (in recent times Dunkirk’s Fionn Whitehead has come out as a favourite for Richard), an abundance of playlists are ready to go on spotify, and Tartt ’s own writing links everything from the classrooms to the dorms to the small town of Hampden in a shared colour scheme; antique browns, gloomy blacks and forest greens, and everything cast in some kind of shadow.

To quote one of my favourite lines: “If beauty is terror, then what is desire? To live forever.” That is where The Secret History is set to remain, preserved only in writing and living through visual manifestations, existing only in our mind’s eye. Maybe that’s where the genius of it lies, perhaps it’s as unfilmable as the infamous Wuthering Heights. After all, if beauty is terror, if genuine beauty is “generally alarming”, then the only way that such a film can ever truly exist in all its unfathomable glory, is the scenes our minds conjure.

MIA SHERRY

what story exists that would make a fantastic film? our writers choose two exciting, thought-provoking texts that have yet to make it to the silver screen, and plead the case for their cinematic adaptation.

BLOOD MERIDIAN Cormac McCarthy’s novels have an inherently cinematic quality to them.

His cartel thriller No Country for Old Men was adapted by the Coens and won best picture, while The Road gave us a new vision of the end of the world. But the great white whale of his fiction is the book that is considered his indisputable masterpiece: Blood Meridian. Considered by many critics to be one of the greatest novels ever written, the book is a meditation on the violence the human race inflicts on itself, and the lack of meaning to said violence.

Set in the 1840’s, the novel follows a nameless sixteen year old runaway who falls in with a band of scalp hunters. The small army roams the US-Mexico border, killing Native Americans for bounty, then for sport, ultimately because it has become second nature. All the while, they are observed by a mysterious man called The Judge, who is huge, hairless, and imbued with some mystical qualities (spoiler alert - it’s heavily implied the guy is literally the Devil).

McCarthy’s apocalyptic vision of man’s descent into a primal state is ripe with beautiful imagery of desert landscapes, run-down saloons and mountain ranges. So descriptive you

can almost feel the heat, the epic scope of the novel should make it a prime target for ambitious filmmakers everywhere (James Franco has tried to adapt it several times, but it hasn’t worked thus far).

So why hasn’t it happened yet? For one, it’s the most violent novel you’re ever likely to read. With extremely vivid depictions of murder and mutilation, the act of reading the book can become increasingly tiring. Another factor is the scope. 350 pages long, and spanning decades, any true adaptation would have to be upwards of 4 hours. And with the slower-moving, more philosophical portions of the novel, the film adaptation has the possibility of becoming a bore.

But one day it’ll get there. It’s got action, it’s got romance*, it’s got lovable characters**, and it actually straddles the line between being a true western, and a full blown horror novel. Most importantly, it has a very urgent message that it wants to convey, and with a difficult, unexpected ending that cinema audiences would analyse for years after, it’s ripe for the picking. You can almost see the Paul Thomas Anderson wide shots if you just imagine the desert.

*There’s no romance in this book, I lied. **There’s also no lovable characters.

The whole point of the book is that the protagonists are all literally evil to begin with.

AARON FINNEGAN

adapting c

the ones they fully realised....

natalie dormer as

anne boleyn marketa ni eithir

Anne Boleyn has been portrayed on the big and small screens many times; sometimes with the strength and power one would expect, such as Geneviève Bujold’s performance in Anne of the Thousand Days, and other times very poorly, but we will have to try and forgive Natalie Portman for The Other Boleyn Girl.

It is Natalie Dormer’s performance in The Tudors, however, that stands out. She manages to combine the ambition and drive we already associate with the infamous Queen with a vulnerability and wisdom that brings a fascinating depth to the character.

Although her male family members initially use her and her sexuality

malcolm mcdowell as

alex delarge alison traynor

It is not an easy task to capture the essence of Alex DeLarge in words. For those not in the know: this character was first introduced in Anthony Burgess’ 1962 novel A Clockwork Orange, (albeit without a surname).

Nine years later, Stanley Kubrick resurrected him in a film adaption of the story, and boy, did he do it justice.

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Played by Malcolm McDowell, Alex DeLarge is undoubtedly one of the most convincing sociopaths to ever appear on screen. In fact, it took me several years to muster up the courage to rewatch the film because I had been so disturbed by McDowell’s portrayal during my teenage years. With a penchant for “ultraviolence”, murder, rape, and Ludwig Van Beethoven, DeLarge is about as depraved as they

as a means to gain power, she soon takes greater control of the situation, and the audience could be forgiven for forgetting that other people were ever involved in her rise to the crown. She also knows her worth. She refuses to be Henry’s mistress and, upon becoming Queen, reminds her father that their rise to power was not all his doing.

Her death is inevitable. It’s clear from her conflict with Henry that she cannot be content with a life which she has no control over. She does not fit into his patriarchal world and so, she must be eliminated. Dormer’s performance in her last two episodes, depicting Boleyn’s downfall, imprisonment and execution, is as heart-breaking as it is powerful, reminding audiences how female empowerment has been punished in the past, and how much a woman’s worth depended on her reproductive abilities; themes that, unfortunately, are still topical. come. With his baby-faced looks, it is difficult to imagine that McDowell could have convincingly played such a nefarious character, but with the help of his stellar acting skills and Kubrick’s direction (plus the sacrifice of his eyeball health), he managed to pull it off incredibly.

However, if you haven’t seen A Clockwork Orange before, be warned: you will never again be able to hear Singing in the Rain without feeling a shiver run down your spine.

characters

....and the ones they fully ruined.

Many people who have only watched the Harry Potter films and not delved into the books have little care for the character of Ginny Weasley. Some even dislike her, dubbing her an unworthy romantic match for Harry.

This is understandable – the onscreen Ginny bears little resemblance to the feisty, witty character depicted in Rowling’s books.

It is admittedly difficult to condense the narrative of long books (moreover, books that depict an expansive fantasy world) into featurelength films with time limits. Film conventions often don’t permit the creative space to develop characters who aren’t essential to major plot points, and Ginny’s character in the books flourishes mostly outside of the main plot. In the films, she seems to pop up out of nowhere, her role being to tie Harry’s shoelaces and take him to the Room of Requirement for a cringey first kiss. In the books, they Edgar Wright’s adaption of the comic series by Bryan Lee O’Malley may have bombed at the box office, but it’s clear why it became a cult hit. It’s bursting with some of the best comedic actors, insanely unique visuals and quotes for every situation.

But like many film adaptations, the restriction of the medium can turn a multidimensional character into an overused trope. I hate the term Manic Pixie Dream Girl, because it’s often used to dismiss female characters who are quirky but otherwise fully realised. But in the film, Ramona Flowers is the quintessential MPDG. Her sole purpose is to be the mysterious, cool girl who motivates Scott Pilgrim to grow up. While Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s acting gives Ramona an air of personality, the film’s version is a hollow shell of the comic’s Ramona.

In the comics, O’Malley has the space to let Scott and Ramona’s relationship develop naturally, devoting time

bonnie wright as

ginny weasley marieke oggel have a well-established friendship; in the films, they mumble awkwardly at one another.

On top of that, Book Ginny is just very cool. She’s an excellent, selftaught Quidditch player, does hilarious impressions of Harry and Ron, and keeps Dumbledore’s Army running in Deathly Hallows. In Order of the Phoenix, she throws around dungbombs and war-dances with Fred and George. Before her first kiss with Harry, she’s off winning a Quidditch final in his place. Her depiction in the films had great potential, but was an unfortunate waste.

mary elizabeth winstead as

ramona flowers kate L. Ryan to delving into Ramona’s past and insecurities. There’s parts of the comic that focus solely on Ramona and her friendships with other female characters, many of whom are also thinly drawn in the film.

Though that’s always a problem with adaptations, the director has to make choices about which elements to capture. Wright focused on the energetic art style and the o�eat humour, while missing out O’Malley’s nuanced portrayal of relationships and complex characterisation.

An Adapted World:

what made the lord of the rings trilogy so damn good?

I was between four and seven when The Lord of the Rings films were released in the cinema, so the majority of my exposure to the Trilogy was through the DVDs. I have only a spotted memory of seeing Return of the King in the cinema (how could one forget), but as Sam says to Frodo at the end of The Two Towers: “Those were the stories that stayed with you.

That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why.”

I grew up in a household that was positively obsessed with The Lord of the Rings. Christmas presents from 2001 to 2004 - and beyond - were action figures, computer games and various other paraphernalia. A Smeagol figurine springs to mind, where a small button on his back would project hissing lines from his plastic mouth such as ‘my precious!’ or ‘stupid hobbitses’; suffice to say my parents grew sick of that one quickly. For years, our family bonds were tested and frayed by games of Lord of the Rings Monopoly; my siblings and I posing as landlords of Middle Earth, haggling over Bag End, Weathertop and The Gap of Rohan. I could wax lyrical about my first dog Frodo, or how in my home the extended edition DVDs of the trilogy hold the sta-

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“For years, our family bonds were tested and frayed by games of Lord of the Rings Monopoly...”

tus reserved only for sacred texts and the remains of loved ones, for pages and pages. However, I am completely aware of how un-unique any of this is.

Adored and worshipped passionately and vigorously around the world by millions, The Lord of the Rings was a blockbuster film franchise in waiting the instant Tolkien’s magnum opus hit the bookshelves.

To be painstakingly prosaic, all adaptations begin with the source material. With breathtaking landscapes and gargantuan battle sequences, Tolkien’s books are inherently cinematic. Ralph Bakshi made the first attempt at realizing Tolkien’s vision on the silver screen with his largely forgotten and rather underrated animated adaptation of the first two books in 1978. The second half of his adaptation never came to fruition however, and all went quiet until the bespectacled, hobbit-esque filmmaker Peter Jackson came along and changed fantasy cinema forever.

Jackson had the unenviable task of sifting through the 1000-odd pages of material and painstakingly choosing what to include and what to cut.

Despite the lengthy runtime of each film, Jackson succeeded in cutting out

some of the superfluous elements of Tolkien’s work, including characters such as Glorfindel and entire passages such as The Scouring of The Shire.

The depth of the lore and history in Tolkien’s material is quite staggering; outside of the three volumes that are adapted (1954/1955), you have The Hobbit (1937), The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (1962) and The Silmarillion (1977), all which take place in the same world and allow the fan completely immerse themselves in the fantasy of series when just the trilogy is not enough.

The fandom factor for Lord of The Rings played a huge part in its success, with replicas of iconic fixtures of the films such as Gandalf’s staff, the sword of Gondor and the ring itself being mass produced as collectibles for fans. The fallow period between The Lord of the Rings films forced fans to flock to online discussion boards and Tolkien’s source material for interim relief. This can be seen in modern television with Game of Thrones, and how George R.R. Martin has continually added layer and upon layer of mythology to his world for fans to bask in.

For my money, the most important decisions to get right when adapting a book or any other source material into a film are the casting choices.

The entire success of the adaptation can hinge on one role, one character and one actor; when producers get it wrong, it can have disastrous effects. One prime example would be the casting of Hayden Christensen as Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequels. The question of who would bring the origin of the most iconic characters in film history to life was one of the most anticipated pieces of casting in recent film history; 1500 auditions later, they landed on a complete dud, and with other contributing factors, the prequels never lived up to their promise.

The highest compliment I can give to the casting in The Lord of The Rings is that when you see the cast in other films, it seems like they’ve wandered out of New Zealand and onto a different film set. It just feels wrong. Nobody could have given Gandalf the same warmth, wisdom, gravitas and power that Ian McKellen did. The same can be said for the wide-eyed innocence that Elijah Wood captivated audiences with, as well as the tormented internal pain that he exhibits throughout his journey. Sean Astin was born to be the stout-hearted Sam, and words fail to do justice to the absolute pioneer that is Andy Serkis, whose unmatched talent and artistry will be looked back on in years to come as a touchstone for a new mode of performance.

With the range of stars that auditioned for various roles, an alternative cast could have seen Jake Gyllenhall

“The depth of characters in Middle Earth is one of the main reasons why J.R.R Tolkien’’s work was a film franchise in waiting.” play Frodo, Sean Connery as Gandalf, and the most bone-shuddering prospect of Nicolas Cage as Aragorn. Adaptations live and die on their casting and Peter Jackson got every decision right.

The depth of characters in Middle Earth is one of the main reasons why J.R.R Tolkien’s work was a film franchise in waiting. Think of all your favourite film franchises, one thing they all have in common is a deep pool of characters outside of the main players in the narrative that ensures that there is something for everyone in their world. In Harry Potter, you have your Luna Lovegoods and your Ginny Weasleys. The same can be applied to Star Wars, Marvel, The Hunger Games and so on and so forth. Whether it be teenage girls fawning over Legolas’ chrome blond hair; boys who were enamored with Aragorn’s rugged hyper-masculine heroism; the wide eyed appeal of the hobbits; Gimli’s light-hearted comedic relief, Arwen; Galadriel; Boromir; Elrond; or Eowyn - the list goes on and on and on.

taking CGI, visual effects and cinematography. When you peel all this away, when you take away layer after layer of technical brilliance, masterful performances, set design and all the other factors that go into making a film, you will find a story; not just any story, but one of the greatest stories ever told. A tale of people who persevere because they know that there is some good worth fighting for. A tale of improbable courage, endurance, friendship, and the difference that can be made when people decide to do what is right with the time that is given to them.

Above all else, the story of The Lord of the Rings is what captured imaginations around the world and made it so beloved to so many.

barry murphy

I haven’t even begun to talk about Howard Shore’s stirring score that swells in equal measure for the tender and tremendous, or the breath-

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The King of adaptations You know his stories. you know his scares. editor hiram harrington reflects on the influence of american novelist stephen king in cinema.

Stephen King is a household name for horror. If you haven’t read one of his hundred-plus novels, short stories, or essays, you’ve seen the film or television adaptation of one. And if you haven’t seen one of those, well, it’s safe to say you’ve been living under a rock.

I grew up very much influenced by my parent’s tastes, as many children do.

My mother, despite being the dictionary definition of a “Dublin Hun”, was covertly a massive fan of horror and mystery literature. As a child I was far too young to read Stephen King, but his legend was passed on to me by my mother with the note of “when you’re older…”. It was on my twelfth birthday that I received a copy of The Shining. I then, with the full force of weeks of nightmares, realised why my mother had made me wait.

The Shining follows the story of Jack, Wendy, and Danny Torrance. When father Jack is offered a job deep in the Colorado mountains at the Overlook Hotel for the winter, he reluctantly

26

accepts, bringing his family into an isolated (and very haunted) pressure cooker environment. I was allowed to watch the film at age eleven and it didn’t scare me much, but the book was a whole other kettle of crazy.

Kubrick’s 1980 adaptation neglected to show the most terrifying scene of all: as Jack tends to the Overlook’s hedge animals, the creatures begin to come to life whenever he looks away. King’s detailed descriptions of the rustling of leaves, the sensation that something is watching Jack, his desperation to run back inside, sent enough chills to my spine that I had to put the book down. It was the first time the written word had coursed through my veins so clearly. Even with no movie version of the scene, I could see it playing out in front of my eyes. For those few paragraphs, I was standing next to Jack. I was feeling the same sweat run down the back of my neck. I was feeling the same fear.

It’s so easy to see why Kubrick wanted to bring the film to the screen; the book paints a vivid image in your head without even trying.

Horror isn’t even really what Stephen King is famous for on screen. On paper, sure, he’s a scary man to read.

In cinema, his achingly real human narratives are what cement him as an icon of adaptations. A survey taken by IMDB in 2010 found that 60% of all audiences on their website cited Frank Darabont’s 1994 adaptation of King’s The Shawshank Redemption as their favourite film. That’s three in every five people. Told from the perspective of Red (Morgan Freeman), an inmate incarcerated in Shawshank prison, we hear the story of Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins). After being wrongfully convicted of the murder of his wife, Andy spends his time in prison tryin to prove his innocence to the sinister warden. After enduring ten years of abuse, pain, and patience, Andy ultimately escapes to freedom.

It may seem like a simple enough plot, but it’s the sympathy King’s narrative creates for Andy that makes it a truly heart-wrenching film. It’s not just about a prison break, really. It’s the story of a human being forced to suffer, and triumphing in spite of it. Within The Shawshank Redemption there are smaller stories within the wider narrative; the ones who weren’t as lucky as Andy. Hearing them fail, or having justice fail them, only makes us root for Andy that bit more - and makes his victory that much sweeter. King’s stories without traditional horror are some of the most shining examples of his influence in cinema: Stand By Me began

as short story The Body, The Green Mile was a series of novellas. Even if you like none of these films, you have to admit: the man has range.

his penned creations. These absolute dissections of the human condition are what make his films touch the lives of so many, but it’s not without controversy that they go.

“It was the highest grossing horror film of all time, but the book itself is a 1500page endurance test involving a child sewer orgy....”

King’s characters range from the wronged woman, the lethargic writer, the troubled father, to the downright insanely evil. Some readers have unfortunately related to the latter.

Rage, released under his pseudonym Richard Bachman, tells the story of a loner high school student who while bored one day, decides to shoot up his teachers and hold his classmates hostage. The book was directly linked to five massacres in the United States, causing King to pull the book from publication entirely and reject all future requests to adapt the text.

Something that makes King’s books and films so truly unique is their characters. King has an undeniable ability to connect a reader with the most desperate parts of the human condition, which comes from his personal experience. After the publication of his debut novel Carrie, King began to heavily abuse alcohol and cocaine for years. To this day, he does not remember writing entire books that were released during this period. He writes damaged people with the power and knowledge of someone who has felt that damage at their very core. He has felt the same loss, the same anguish, and the same rage as many of

Even as a fan, I can see that not all of the adaptations of his work have not been perfect. For much of the 2000s, his work was associated with low budget schlock films with cheap scares and even cheaper acting. Hell, even the books some films have been adapted from aren’t as good as others. It was the highest-grossing horror film of all time, but the book itself is a 1500-page endurance test involving a child sewer orgy and a turtle that carries the universe on his back. But the 2010s have been much kinder to the Stephen King adaptation lexicon.

Netflix in particular has been responsible for a kind of King-aissance, producing the critically acclaimed film versions of Gerald’s Game, 1922, and

In The Tall Grass. There’s been minor flops in the likes of Pet Semetary, but what’s one slip to a man with decades of iconic cinema under his belt?

Selling over 350 million copies of the books themselves is no easy feat - but the earnings of King’s cinematic universe have grossed well into the billions and show no signs of stopping.

Currently in the works are a television miniseries adaptation of his magnum opus The Stand (considered by some to be one of the greatest novels ever written, let alone the best of his bibliography), a remake of Salem’s Lot, and a film of The Long Walk. Amazon have optioned his characters for their King-universe original series Castle Rock. His literary sequel to The Shining is also coming to the screen in the coming weeks, and has already received rave reviews from critics. Over the years, King has written episodes of television for shows like The X-Files, and worked on scripts for adaptations of his work. He’s keen for the films to continue, and audiences are too.

The recognised “King of Horror” remains king of the film adaptation, and for damn good reason: his characters, worlds, and stories touch the lives of everyone who reads them. Whether you like him or not, Stephen King’s influence on the screen will continue for years to come. To paraphrase Kathy Bates’s miserable Annie Wilkes: Stephen, we’re your biggest fans.

Hiram Harrington 27

shorts that started it major motion pictures often begin their lives as shorts, designed to showcase the story of the film to potential investors or audiences. these are the shorts that birthed feature-length creations.

based on bagman

kin

liam kelly Pursued by a vengeful criminal (James Franco), the police and a gang of otherworldly soldiers, a recently released ex-con (Jack Reynor), and his adopted teenage brother (Myles Truitt) are forced to go on the run with a mysterious alien weapon as their only protection. Much like the title suggests, Kin is a film about family. However, directors Jonathan and Josh Baker owe much to the classic sci-fi films of the 80s like The Terminator. Their love of the genre shines through, and there is a strong sense of nostalgia throughout. It came as no surprise that the film is produced by Shawn Levy, director and producer of Stranger Things.

Kin expands upon the premise of Bag

based on Whiplash

whiplash marieke oggel Before Damien Chazelle’s Oscar-nominated feature Whiplash (2014), there was his eighteen-minute short film Whiplash (2013). Chazelle had never intended to make the short; he already had the feature-length script and producers backing him, but he didn’t have the budget. The short was born from a scene from the script, its intention being to convince financiers that the film would work on the big screen. Sure enough, the short premiered at Sundance and Chazelle soon acquired funding.

J.K. Simmons reprised his role as Fletcher in the feature-length, the decision being a “no-brainer” for Chazelle. Miles Teller is great as protago-

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Man, a fifteen-minute short film directed by the Bakers. While the short has more of an indie quality, the film leans heavily into the sci-fi element.

There is a lot to like about Kin, from the visuals and performances to Mogwai’s soundtrack. The film was not nearly as awful as I expected it to be upon hearing about its poor critical response and performance at the box-office. Kin ultimately fails to deliver on the promise of the short it’s based on. In trying to balance family-crime drama with sci-fi action sequences, the film never manages to find a consistent tone. The characters and relationships were interesting enough to keep me engaged, but the film unfortunately will be remembered as a clear example of how to botch an ending - it was unexpected for sure, but made absolutely no sense. nist Andrew Neiman, proving himself a worthy replacement for Johnny Simmons. Simmons is convincing in the context of the short, but his character seems more insecure than Teller’s, and lacks both the ego and the determination that drive Teller’s Neiman to endure everything that he does. The feature also introduces us to Neiman’s father, Jim (Paul Reiser) and temporary girlfriend, Nicole (Melissa Benoist), allowing us greater insight into Neiman’s relationships, and thus his character.

The short film provided not only a way for Chazelle to secure funding, but ultimately a practice round before he moved on to the feature-length.

This is evident throughout the short – the film is good, but lacks the sense of anxiety that paces through the feature. As Fletcher would say, it’s not quite my tempo.

Despite this, I feel more people should give the film a second chance.

I cannot understate the importance of escapism in film and I hope that ambitious storytellers like the Bakers and we as the audience continue to push for more independent sci-fi that people can enjoy for generations to come.

review

the farewell 2019 / dir. lulu wang / comedy drama The Farewell centres on a family dealing with their grandmother Nai Nai’s (Zhao Shuzhen) cancer diagnosis.

Rather than revealing to Nai Nai her condition, the family make the decision to hide her situation from her to avoid what they deem as unnecessary pain. This all comes as a struggle to protagonist and granddaughter Billi (Awkwafina). For a self proclaimed ‘comedy-drama’, The Farewell fails to carry significant weight in either genre category. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t enjoyment to be had from seeing it.

As a result of the secrecy which requires the family members to hide their inner turmoil from Nai Nai, the film features a limited range of select emotional scenes. Unfortunately, these scenes fail to truly emulate the painstaking journey of expecting eminent loss. This can be partially explained by the fact that the characters are actively seeking to ignore Nai Nai’s cancer and are not actually witnessing the emotional consequences on the sufferer. Nonetheless, where heartfelt scenes do come to prominence, the focus is at times misdirected, leaving their relevance to the plot unclear.

The dilution of the real drama experience may also be attributed to the unsettled transitions between scenes. These, resulting from the varied camera work and largely disjoint-

ed soundtrack, throw the viewer from moments of frustration and anger to sudden sadness without a moment’s warning. I can only imagine that director Lulu Wang’s intention here was to project the same experience of compartmentalised emotion that the characters experience onto the audience also. Whether this is intentional or not, the viewer experiences more feelings of confusion than empathy for the characters (I questioned myself several times, wondering whether I missed something).

The Farewell is far from a laugh-outloud comedy but it does excel in moments of subtle humour. One cause of humour comes from a make-believe wedding arranged by the family in order to provide them all with a reason to see Nai Nai one last time. Here, the lack of sexual chemistry displayed between bride and groom is indicative of a high-school-like awkwardness and is thoroughly entertaining to watch. Elsewhere, the brutal honesty of Nai Nai herself who fires typical grandmother-like put-downs is undeniably funny.

Where The Farewell really blossoms though is through the acting and onscreen chemistry of Billi and Nai Nai. In their rare but delightful scenes alone together, the two provide the audience with real moments of joy and the two really carry the film.

While the plaudits will go to Awkwafi-

na’s portrayal of a girl struggling with an emotional conflict, Zhao Shuzhen, in her film debut, is also excellent in her reflection of an outgoing, honest and thoroughly lovable grandmother.

“Where the farewell really blossoms is through the acting and onscreen chemistry of billi and nai nai.”

If you’re going to see The Farewell, don’t go in expecting a laugh out loud comedy, nor a hard hitting tear-jerker. Instead, what the film will provide you is a representation of family that audience members of all backgrounds will connect to. You may not laugh your head off or cry your eyes out, but after watching The Farewell you’ll almost certainly give your grandma a call.

TOM FLEMING 29

review

the goldfinch 2019 / dir. john crowley / drama

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Before its release, The Goldfinch seemed a likely contender in the major awards circuit for 2019. However, much like the central character Theo Decker’s downfall, since it opened to luke-warm reviews at the Toronto Film Festival, it has quickly descended into one of 2019’s biggest failures.

I would have had very little clue as to what was actually happening. This is my major critique of the film, and one I come back to time and time again; its plotting is messy and inconsistent.

I ended up relying on my knowledge from the book frequently throughout the film.

From trailers that could use only a singular review that celebrated rather than condemned the film, to Ansel Elgort weepily lamenting critics’ cruelty and begging his ardent instagram followers to “take your mom to see it” over the weekend; it’s not looking good for The Goldfinch. I watched all this unfold with an unbiased (if, incredibly amused) eye, and hoped perhaps I’d have something better to say.

The other unforgivable aspect of this film is, surprisingly, the performances. Let’s get the good ones out of the way: this is Nicole Kidman at her best.

She was pulling out every Oscar-bait trick in the book, from the classic subtle tear-welling, to the delicate but believable portrayal of a New York socialite worn down from privileged white-women problems; she handled them all with deft and seamless grace.

Here’s the upside: it’s not a totally desolate film. Here’s the bad side: it’s not much else, either. When I found myself looking back on it and the things I enjoyed, I came back to the same crux; that I liked the film despite, and rarely because. This I can only attribute to my prior (and recent) reading of the book on which it is based. The Goldfinch tells the story of Theo Decker (Ansel Elgort), who, after being caught in a bombing in an art gallery, steals Carel Fabritius’ painting “The Goldfinch”. This becomes the catalyst that leads Theo into a world of art, forgery and theft. I knew this, having read the book. I realised about halfway through the film that had I not,

As for the others, they don’t fare quite so well. The supporting characters end up working overtime to liven up Oakes Fegley’s performance as a young Theo Decker. Similarly, Ansel Elgort, who tries so desperately to uphold the mighty weight of this film, falls victim to his own scene-chewing.

Instead of the polished and graceful emotional turns that Nicole Kidman gave, Elgort instead (whether deliberately or not) decided to communicate every emotion Theo might have had through his nostrils, in a move that might have come straight from the Joey Tribbiani ‘smell the fart’ school of acting. One of the most distracting

features of the entire film, his nose flares up and down on repeat to convey grief, confusion, fear.

“the goldfinch is a hollow ghost of its source material....”

What makes this film so hard to review is that, while it is undoubtedly not so great, its last act could be argued to save it. Tight and well executed; it offers a satisfying resolution and some great chemistry between Elgort and Aneurin Barnard as Boris, Theo’s childhood friend. No matter how it dresses itself up, though, nothing can deny that, beneath the facade of a slick soundtrack and fancy interior shots, The Goldfinch is a hollow ghost of its source material and the capabilities of its actors. So sorry, Ansel Elgort, but I don’t think I’ll be bringing my mom to see it this weekend.

Maybe we’ll watch it together when it makes its inevitable way onto Film4 - because though The Goldfinch might be worth your time, it’s certainly not worth your money.

Mia sherry

review

joker 2019 / dir. todd philips / drama thriller “A comic book movie in competition at a film festival? Winning the Golden Lion? Che cazzo!” The atmosphere surrounding Joker at Venice was intense; both press screenings were full, in cinemas amounting to a total of about 3400 seats, and not even all the critics that tried to attend were admitted. I queued from 5.45am to secure my seat for a screening at 10.30am, after witnessing the madness this film had appeared to transmit from its protagonist to its audience.

Joker’s protagonist is Arthur Fleck (a devastating and disturbing Joaquin Phoenix). He is a vulnerable man, haunted by the neglect and indifference of the society around him. Due to a childhood injury, he has uncontrollable bouts of manic laughter in inappropriate moments that violate his surrounding space, scaring people and alienating him from human connection.

It may appear all too easy to dismiss Fleck as an “incel” type - a lonely man taking out his rage and desperation on a toxic society that has given him nothing but animosity - yet, the character of the Joker is far more nuanced than that. Yes, he is clearly a victim of a toxic society, but this is also the same divided, sadistic society that then celebrates the chaos he begins to create, much like the way our own society seems to celebrate crass

fear-mongering and hatred in the polls over compassion and sincerity.

Phoenix’s performance is masterful.

He lost a lot of weight for the role, leaving behind a body that seems hollowed out from the inside, protruding ribs and shoulder blades deforming an otherwise very recognisable Hollywood star. His weight loss is not the only way he loses himself in the role; Fleck’s movements, clumsy and clownish, are meticulously choreographed, highlighting the vulnerability of the character, but never abnegating the potential danger the neglect of such vulnerability can create.

“.... this is a person who has no concept of what is socially acceptable. this is not a character we can unflinchingly root for.”

Todd Phillips’ film consistently wrongfoots us about Fleck, testing his reliability as a narrator, which, being a

character that will of course go on to torment Batman, seems appropriate. Whenever the film risks sympathising too much with Fleck, we are shown the perversity of his worldview through visual contradiction or performance. One such scene shows Fleck at a comedy club, watching a stand-up set and laughing at all the wrong bits: the filler that connects the punchlines, separating himself from every other audience member, and showing us that this is a person who has no concept of what is socially acceptable. This is not a character we can unflinchingly root for.

Phillips’ direction has clearly been inspired by the character studies of Scorsese’s back-catalogue, its palette evocative of Mean Streets and The King of Comedy, and even boasting Robert DeNiro’s long-awaited return to a serious role that isn’t a perverted grandpa. Fleck’s grimy underworld of Gotham also owes a lot to that of Taxi Driver, sharing a lonely protagonist about to snap in a city gone mad.

Joker is not a perfect film; a certain alleyway scene definitely takes you out of an otherwise stand-alone narrative, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an important and relevant cautionary film about this type of character in the cinema before. It is undoubtedly a masterpiece.

connor howlett31

movie horoscope it is, after all, the most horrific time of the year - stay away from goblins, ghouls, and zombies with a classic movie adaptation.

Aries | Mar 21 - Apr 20 WATCH: Black Kkklansman (2018)

Taurus | apr 21 - may 20 WATCH: There will be blood (2007)

gemini | May 21 - jun 20 WATCH: trainspotting (1996)

Pursue that passion you’ve put on the backburner. You deserve to be happy.

Your rivals and enemies have no idea what they’re dealing with.

They say friends appear in the strangest of places, so keep your window open.

cancer | jun 21 - jul 22

leo | jul 23 - Aug 22

virgo | aug 23 - Sep 22

See someone you haven’t seen in a while and hold them closer than ever.

WATCH: drive (2011)

An old face is about to appear onstage.

Don’t let them steal your light.

WATCH: fight club (1999)

WATCH: the shawshank redemption (1994)

libra | sep 23 - oct 22

scorpio | oct 23 - nov 22

sagittarius | nov 23 - dec 21

WATCH: ROMEO + JULIET (1996)

WATCH: Amadeus (1984)

Keep your ears sharp to gossip. You never know when you’ll need to cut a bitch.

Stress may be killing you, but you’re killing it.

WATCH: burning (2018)

Breathe, for once in your life.

If you were looking for a sign - this is it.

Don’t stop.

capricorn | dec 22 - jan 19

Aquarius | jan 20 - feb 19

Pisces | feb 20 - mar 20

WATCH: ran (1985)

WATCH: the silence of the lambs (1990)

When the sun breaks through the clouds, let it shine on you.

Protect yourself from those close to you.

Snakes cannot be seen in tall grass.

WATCH: akira (1988)

History doesn’t repeat, but it echoes.

Don’t make the same mistake twice.

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