Hey everyone, this is Jay. You may remember me from my three part series on Witch House last month. Anyhow, I’m back with what I hope to be a regular column on the Pure Pop blog, “BOOK V. MOVIE”. It’s where I take stories/concepts that have been envisioned in both literary and cinematic form. Most of the time they will start as a novel, short story, play, poem, etc. and then be adapted to the silver screen. But in some cases, I’ll take films that have inspired books. Regardless, this is the first one, an evaluative comparison of Hubert Selby, Jr‘s novel “Requiem for a Dream” and Darren Aronofsky‘s film adaptation of the same name. Enjoy!
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Since the introduction of the motion picture at the turn of the 19th century, cinematic adaptations of classic novels have been a major source of content for films. From David Lean’s take on Dickens’ “Great Expectations” to Stanley Kubrick’s psychedelic handling of Anthony Burgess’ “A Clockwork Orange” to the fantastical effects-driven realization of the wizarding world of Harry Potter, directors have often taken up the challenge of turning difficult, almost impenetrable abstract prose into narrative film images.
It has been an almost universal assumption that the novel will always surpass the film version, for several reasons. First of all, the novel typically comes before the film adaptation (with the exception of the occasional “novelization” of popular films, a trend that seemed to hit its peak in the late 70s and early 80s), so the film version is typically seen as less of a creative achievement, simply an adaptation and condensation of a story, settings and characters that have already been predetermined.
Also, the vast difference in content allotments for novels vs. films gives a clear advantage to the novel. Few will balk at reading at 1,000 page novel over the period of a month, but ask them to sit through a film longer than 3 hours, and you’ll get a stare of distain equivalent to asking them to cover their naked body in honey and tie themselves to a stake over a colony of red ants. As a result, books nearly always allow for a greater deal of description and exploration of the inner states of the characters (and outer descriptions of locations) than the film, simply because there is more time to do so (rare exceptions include made-for-tv epics like Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s 15-and-a-half hour long “Berlin Alexanderplatz”).
Books also have the great advantage of giving the audience a further degree of interactivity and participation, allowing room to make their own assumptions in terms of interpretation or visualization of characters and scenarios (with the very rare exception of phenomenological writers such as Alain Robbe-Grillet and his cinematic uber-descriptions of environment in his written works) . Others say that films are more entertaining, more direct, more impactful on the totality of the senses. A picture does speak a thousand words after all, and some directors also have the extra-sensory ability to influence the audience through sounds design. Some have gone even further, such as Gaspar Noe’s use of subsonic tones in certain theater releases of “Irreversible” (it is reported that some audience members were actually caused to vomit by the intense physical sensations). Some directors in the 60s even experimented with olfactory stimulation, known as “Smell-o-Vision”, most notably John Waters’ “Odorama” editions of “Polyester”].
There is really no use in arguing which medium is “better”; both novels and films are valid mediums for conveying an artist’s message, and each have their own merits. A work should stand on its own and be judged on its own, whether it started as a book and was adapted to the screen, or started as a film and is adapted to a book.
Requiem For a Dream is one of the odd examples where the film is much better known and more widely experienced than the book. Written in 1978, the cult novel by Hubert Selby was mainly notable because of the fame/infamy he received from his first novel “Last Exit to Brooklyn”, which was banned in the U.K. and other nations upon its release, due to its graphic depictions of drug use, crime, transexuality and homosexuality. “Last Exit…” was also adapted into a fine film by Uli Edel, director of one of my personal favorite films, “Christianne F.”
“Requiem” followed in this controversial tradition by exploring cross-generational depictions of addictions (opiates, amphetamine diet pills, television, fame) and creating a devastating critique of the myth of the “American Dream”. Selby’s abstract prose style, which forgoes key elements of punctuation such as quotation marks, commas and apostrophes, seeming made for a difficult, if not impossible, translation to the screen. However, despite the poetic style, his works are usually fairly straightforward narratives, with well-developed, multi-faceted characters and linear plotlines. Requiem is no exception, and probably the most accessible of Selby’s works.
Darren Aronofsky’s use of experimental filmmaking techniques, such as body-attached cameras, split screens; slow-motion blurs and other special effects, bring to life the subtlely surreal elements of the novel in way that is both appropriately terrifying but never cheesy or over the top. While I previously felt that much of Aronofsky’s early works, including “Requiem”, relied too much of this type of gimmickry, after having ready Selby’s novel, I don’t think any effect is excessive. The film is straightforward when it needs to be, and incredibly frightening surreal when that is called for.
While the similarities between novel and film were much more extensive than I expected, I did find there were a few major differences. The biggest difference is the time period—the novel takes place in Brooklyn in the 1970s, while the novel takes place in the same locale but in the 1990s. Despite the obvious differences that would have to be made to accommodate for such shifts in time (i.e. listening to “Exile on Main Street” instead of spinning techno records; differences in slang terms, etc.), I was really amazed to see how much of the dialog in the film was taken directly from Selby’s novel. I was even more amazed by how well it held up after 20+ years.
Another major difference is in the lead character, Harry. In the book, Harry is much more crude and almost ridiculous, whereas in the film he comes off as much more suave and charming. But the biggest difference comes in terms of the “real” Harry, as portrayed in both the film and the novel. In the film, Harry has no real ambitions, other than to get a big score so he can help Marion start a career as a fashion designer. He comes off as magnanimous, but ultimately shallow and hopeless as an empowered individual. However, in the book, Harry’s goal from the big score is so that he can live out his dream of opening up a coffee shop, that includes poetry readings and art exhibitions. Marion is a painter in the book, so obviously having a venue for her talents are in Harry’s mind as well, but really it’s about him exploring a side of himself that he can’t express on the streets. He’s not just a thug and a junkie; he’s an entrepreneur and an appreciator of fine culture. This side of Harry is unfortunately lost in the film adaptation.
Judged on their own, I feel that both Selby’s novel and Aronofsky’s films are both masterpieces, which can be appreciated on their own or, even better, when compared side by side.
That’s it for my first Book Vs. Film review. In future editions of this series, I hope to tackle even more difficult adaptations, especially film adaptations of graphic novels such as “Ghost World” and “Sin City”. I can’t wait to see how David Fincher handles Charles Burns’ “Black Hole”…..see you soon!
Oh, and by the way–you can buy both the book and DVD versions of Requiem For a Dream directly from Pure Pop, so if you haven’t already, go there today!
Jay Blanchard is a Burlington, VT based musician. He also runs the experimental microlabel MARS PYRAMID.
Let’s face it. Most of us know by now that our country, no, make that every country in the world is run by men of science. These men of science seem to have the most fun by creating all sorts of new ways of global destruction that not even Roland Emmerich could fathom, just ‘cuz they can. Now, we modern day folks put a great deal of faith in these men of science. We trust them to know what’s best for us, and to only use their death rays on bad dudes and terrorists. Just like how we trust God to send bad guys and terrorists to hell!
Kurt Vonnegut‘s 1963 novel Cat’s Cradle is a tale that follows an everyman named John, who finds himself becoming a destined participant in a series of events regarding the faith we put in science and religion. While researching the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, John discovers the legacy of Dr. Hoenikker, the (fictional) co-creator of the atomic bond and a substance called ice-nine. Further investigation into ice-nine leads John to the Island of San Lorenzo, where the substance is in the possession of Hoenikker’s children. John learns more about the the peculiar island culture through a guide given to him by the newly appointed US ambassador. This guide glides over the local landmarks and institutions and devotes most of its information to the island’s peculiar history. This history revolves mostly around the tension between an aging and bloodthirsty dictator with a hook of death and the eccentric prophet of the religion of Bokonon with his books and kinky foot fetish ritual.
Cat’s Cradle is a testament to Vonnegut’s strong convictions towards humanism, free thought and skepticism of conventional religious beliefs. This is black comedy at its finest. If you still need a reason to pick this classic up, let it be to honor the legacy of Vonnegut’s brilliant and prolific career.
This one’s for you, Kurt.
Dear Readers, as the depth of winter approaches, I’m sure you’re either dreading the onset of maddening cabin fever or a vitamin D deficiency or weeks of freezing morning bathroom floors. My favorite remedy for the icy blues is reading, and now that Pure Pop has begun to stock books I’ll be prescribing a couple to you over the next week. Best taken with a cup of St. John’s Wort tea as you you sit under your S.A.D. “happy lamp”.
Your first dose is Tom Robbins‘ offbeat classic Still Life With Woodpecker. You know how at the end of Reading Rainbow they had those kids giving book reviews and they always started them off with the classic rhetorical question intro? I’ve always wanted to do that, so here goes.
Do you like exiled, tree-hugging princesses? How about outlaws with loads of dynamite and a penchant for domestic terrorism?
What about sex without a condom? If you do, you’ll love this book. Still Life is the quixotic adventure of Princess Leigh-Cheri, red-headed princess of an family of royals exiled by democratic revolt in their home country. After an unfortunate knock-up and miscarriage, Leigh Cheri embarks on a quest for the ultimate form of natural birth control. When she collides with career outlaw Bernard Mickey Wrangle aka “The Woodpecker” she learns how to communicate through a pack of Camel’s, and the purpose of the moon.
Robbins’ work is outsider brilliance in the same renegade realm as the words of Hunter S. Thompson and Kurt Vonnegut. The man crafts a story that brings you to the brink of what would commonly be considered mental illness and then convinces you that the experience is completely normal. He is prolific and philosophical, and considers humanity’s moments of being “playful, rebellious and immature” as it’s best. Still Life is an unmasterpiece that illustrates the beautiful absurdity of the world we live in.
Come pick it up at the store, and while you’re at it, special order your next read for 20% off the regular price. (aweshum)
