Did We Read the Same Source Material?

Ever go see a movie based on a book you really like and walk out thinking, "I'm sorry, did we read the same book?" Characters have disappeared or been created, entire story arcs were cut or doubled in size, moments of deep symbolic meaning or absolutely no meaning whatsoever materialized from nowhere while deeply meaningful moments vanished in a puff of smoke.

I think we've all been there. And, if you're like more, you tend to leave the theater in something of a huff. It's very rare that I leave a theater having seen a flick that made radical changes to the text where I didn't think, "You're not seriously claiming that was based on the book? You barely nodded to the original text!"

Because for me, there's a line between Based On, Inspired By, and Loosely Connected To (See How We Kept The Names the Same).

I'm not saying I've never seen it well done. The movie Stardust in 2007 got very free with Niel Gaiman's novel -- a book I liked quite a bit -- and when I saw many of the changes, I said, "Nice. I see why you did that." Because many of the adaptations were made as concessions to the medium rather than in total disregard for the original text.

On the other hand, Elton John's rock opera version of Aida is, to my mind, more Inspired By Verdi's original than actually based on it. They cut 3 of the acts, change most of Amneris's character arc, and rewrite a fair amount of Radames's backstory. But, you know, they kept the names the same. It's a nice reference, but, to me, almost a different play entirely.

Captain Film Major tends to come to the defense of adaptations. He says I expect them to bear too strong a resemblance to the book. Maybe I do. But that's because I have a very strict interpretation of the line between Based On and Inspired By. I think when you start getting jiggy with the plot, you're crossing over. He doesn't share that opinion.

For the first time, the project I'm working on was inspired by certain source material, and I chose to work closely with that material in the creation of the text. On the other hand, as the piece grew on its own, it moved away from the original source. I'd already changed most names, many motivations, a fair amount of characterization, and the ending. I think I've moved from Based On to Inspired By and, who knows, maybe even closer to Connected To (See How I Make All Those References). But that's just where the project wants to go.

How about you? Where do you draw the lines of Based On and Inspired By? Do you ever do Based On work? Inspired By?

Easy Button Endings.

While I was in Canada, I had the chance to see the play Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare. Overall, it was a good production of a play I'd call mediocre at best. (Sorry, Bill, I'm sure you tried. Still, you've done better.)

Really, this issue with Two Gents (and this will be delicately phrased to avoid spoilers) is the ending. In the middle of a scene of tremendous drama and conflict (or at least potential drama and conflict), there's a short pause wherein every character who is justifiably ticked off at one of the two gents just magically decides -- all at the same time, mind you -- that never mind, they're not mad anymore. As far as I'm concerned, someone might as well have hit an easy button in the hopes of wrapping the nonsense up quickly.



My objection to Easy Button Endings is quite simple: they're ridiculous.

Let me expand on that point before anyone gets offended. I know that claim sounds harsh, but I tend to find that any ending that wraps up ever single issue in the story in a single scene (especially in a very short scene) is radically oversimplifying human emotions or bypassing several perfectly legitimate reactions and responses a character could (and probably would) make in the hopes of creating a simple and neat solution.

I firmly believe that endings are the most important part.

(Yes, I had to invoke Secret Window. Always. If only because Johnny Depp is awesome.)

Therefore, when I see someone do something like this, or as I'd probably call it, blow the ending, I find myself tempted to drop the book and gripe to whoever's on hand (to the Other One's unending joy).

Endings should be good. They should be interesting, inventive, reasonable (read: physically possible and sense-making), and they should reflect the way these characters and, you know, actual humans might respond in the given situation.

For example, if a many tries to murder his girlfriend with an ax, most women would not leap at the chance to take that man back. If a character has a deathly phobia of spiders, she probably won't be carrying one in her purse just in time for it to come into play in the final scene.

If they ending doesn't work, the reader is going to feel very frustrated. And, as far as I'm concerned, they'll have a right to, because many readers (myself included) read for a resolution of some sort. They did their share of the work by reading the whole book, and it's only fair that the writer should do their share and write an ending worth getting to.

That, in my opinion, means taking the time to resolve the plot and resolve it in a way that makes sense and flows in terms of logic, the laws of physics, and human emotions.

I, myself, have occasionally been guilty of an Easy Button Ending. I'm editing the Thief Book and am scrapping the last 4.5 pages, because I took the easy way out and wrote an Easy Button Ending. I'd gotten tired, and the MS was running long, so I slapped an ending on there that doesn't logically track or make sense for the world of my story. Bad me. I shouldn't do that to a reader.

Do you share my frustration with Easy Button Endings? Do you not mind them? Have you ever felt like a writer was using an Easy Button to wrap it all up? Do you own an Easy Button? Do you share my love of Johnny Depp?

Happy Birthday, Bill

William Shakespeare was born, well, we're not quite sure. But he was baptized on the 26th of April, so he was born right about now (probably on the 23rd). I'm celebrating today. So, Happy Birthday, Bill Shakespeare. :-)

Talk about crazy prolific. To his name, he's has 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two narrative poems, and several other pieces of poetry. I'm in awe, really.

You've got to love Shakespeare. (No, seriously, you have to. I'm making it a law.) There're few things I love more than the cross-dressing romantic comedies. Gotta love the dramatic irony of them all. What Shakespeare do you love best?

Bill: "I do love nothing in this world so well as you. Is not that strange?"

Oh, and, for The Other One: Shakespeare is my homeboy. ^_^

And, for your viewing pleasure:

Blinded by the Light

About a fortnight ago, I went to see the movie Avatar. As we left the movie, my brother, Captain Film Major, asked me, "What'd you think of it?"

In all honesty, I admitted I couldn't say. Now, me not having an opinion on something is a strange thing. If I don't have an opinion on something, I can usually generate one in 5.4 seconds. So not having one about Avatar was a bit weird. But I knew why I couldn't say anything. "I was seduced by how pretty it was."

Yes, the first time I saw Avatar my initial impression was, "It's pretty." I'm just easy like that. Go ahead, make you jokes. My ego can take it, I think. (Since seeing it again -- long-ish story involving 3D glasses-- I've moved past it's beauty to still give it a 9 out of 10. [Captain Film Major, if you're thinking of mocking that, you can just bugger off. I liked the movie.] Anyway...)

You're probably wondering what this all has to do with books, because I didn't come over here to write a movie review. Shocker, I know. What I'm curious about is the blinding effect of the beauty.

I know that this is not a groundbreaking revelation: People's judgment may be obscured to altered by the attractiveness of the subject at hand. Yes, I know, our species can be a little shallow like that at times. But, that doesn't tend to happen to me. At least, not with this medium.

Sure, I've seen paintings that commanded my eyes. I think we all have. And music can move me to tears. But this would be the first time that the prettiness of a movie warped my thoughts. And now I feel compelled to wonder, does my mind get warped by the Pretty when it comes to books as well?

It seems logical that sometimes we'll suffer through boring plot or repugnant characters for the sake of beautiful or well-crafted writing. We suffer through a lot worse in our lives for the sake of Pretty. Besides, I don't think most people read those books they were assigned in class because the books were just ever so fascinating. Instead, the caliber of the writing kept folks going.

Even Shakespeare is like that sometimes. Every now and then I look at a monologue and think, "Dude, was someone doing a costume change here and you needed three minutes? This speech isn't moving the plot along at all. Why'd he bother?"

But, you know, you miss those thoughts the first read through, because it's Shakespeare, and it's pretty, and it's eloquent, so you let the words wash over you and it doesn't matter that the speech serves no purpose. Okay, maybe if you aren't a Shakespeare geek, you're thinking, "No, he could have cut that whole act. The pretty isn't blinding me on this one." But I get a little blinded, and I think even hard-core Shakespeare fans have to admit to a little Pretty-blindness every now and then.

Does this happen to you? Do you get blinded by the prettiness of the writing and overlook the other qualities of the piece? What book was so pretty it blinded you? How much do you let the prettiness of the prose compensate for the other aspects?


Also, if you're keeping track, this happens to be my 200th blog post. I hope you enjoyed it. :D

Gods Among Men

I recently saw an absolutely fabulous production of Cymbeline by Mr. William Shakespeare. I loved it. (Please, pause while I take a moment to relive the Theater-Induced-Ecstasy. Okay, I'm back now.)

One thing that struck me during the production was the director's reinterpretation of the play's Deus Ex Machina elements (For my thoughts on Deus Ex Machina, you can click here). While the script called for the chorus of the play to call on Jupiter to alter the fates of the characters and ensure a happy ending, in this version the exposition was given over to a narrator and 'twas to her that the chorus appealed for a happier end.

The narrator attempted to justify the pain of the characters, but when handed a pen by the member of the chorus, she conceded and rewrote the end to a happier one. The audience rejoiced.

I loved this interpretation. It struck me, as a writer, and put me to think of the power that the writer has over the events of the story. Indeed, Shakespeare could have elected a tragic end to the tale, for there was enough sadness it in, but instead it was quite happy, and the audience laughed and cheered for the main characters.

We, as writers, are powerful beings. We create these worlds before us in our stories, create peoples and animals strange to us, and create the past, present, and future as we see fit. We are the gods of these new worlds, even if our characters cannot plead with us, in person, at least, for a different end than the one we choose to give them.

For it is our choice. We have the power.

Swappity-Do

Right now, I'm tired and happy, because I'm working on a production of Romeo and Juliet. I got cast as Pretuchio (no, I'm not confused about what play I'm talking about. There's actually someone with that name in this play, too) who has one line. Teensy part, but I was willing to do it, because I wanted to be in the play.

Petruchio turned into Nonspecific Extra. Being a nonspecific extra can teach you about character development. After all, how does one convey the difference between Guy In Background Who Got Stabbed and Guy At Dance? However, that's a subject for a different time.

The show is tonight, and due to a virulent rumor that I have the play memorized (I don't. Do I look like a crazy savant to you? No, I'm not.) when one of the other extras got the flu, the director asked me to take over his lines. I got this news on Wednesday.

How does this relate to writing? Well, this got me to thinking, How interchangeable are the folks in the background, anyway?

No one would dare suggest replacing Romeo was a guy from the background, or even using Mercutio and getting everyone else to move up one. You do not shuffle leads like that. But extras get shuffled around all the time.

All stories are full of extras. That person your MC bumped into on the way down the stairs is probably an extra. The waitress who sold MC a cup of coffee on her way to school is an extra. These people might get a few lines and some description devoted to them, but they are, for all intents and purposes, extras.

So, how much do you need them? Or, how much of what makes them them do you need? If I told you that you had to cut three of your extras, you probably could. But would the story suffer as a result. One could argue that it might. There will be less variation in the flavors of the story.

If you cut the shopkeeper with the Scottish brogue, there went one interesting tidbit. If the two stamp collecting neighbors become one, you might be losing some interesting/comedic/quirky dialogue. If every time the character goes out, they always run into the same person in the hallway for their gossip, the reader is going to get only the tiniest glimpse of the people who surround the character.

Just because you've simplified the picture doesn't mean that it became a more interesting one to look at.

Moreover, since no two characters are, or should be, the same, one could say that they won't fill the same role the same way. Though they could get the same job done, pass on the same info, they won't do it in the same way.

For example, if the girl downstairs in the MC's building is strangled, the kindly old man who lives next to the neighbor might say that it's such a shame that she's dead, that she was such a nice girl. A persnickety, religious 60-year-old woman, on the other hand, might say that she was a sweet girl sometimes but deserved what she got for having such a parade of strange men in and out of her apartment all the time. These could both be reasonably accurate (skewed by character's perspective of life, but mostly true) descriptions, and they would both pass on that the girl was dead, but they aren't the same, are they? What if the reader didn't know yet that the girl had a lot of gentlemen callers, and the reader needed to know. Then the speaker would need to mention that, so you would need the kind of extra who would fill the role that way.

How do you feel about swapping in the extras? When has simplification gone too far?

Must Be This Tall To Read

Today, I saw a very nice production of Julius Caesar. My internal thespian giggles with glee at such productions. One thing disconcerted me, though. As I was leaving, I saw a girl who looked no older than eight. True, she was with her mother, but that doesn't change some things about the show.

Let's have a little thought about age appropriate. This might not have been the bloodiest thing I've ever seen on a stage, but this was still the production where blood actually seeped from the corpse down the pulpit. True, I offer much praise to the techies who pulled that off, but that's not something I'd recommend for kids.

People consider often what to rate movies, how to categorize books, but it's not often people say, "oh, but isn't that play too high of a rating for kids?" At least, if that's happening, no one has ever said it in front of me (or the parent's of the tween or under personages I've seen at some particularly gruesome shows.)

Forsaking the middle, Julius Caesar ends with **Spoiler Alert** two assisted suicides. Interesting to watch when well done, but certainly a gruesome thought. In my younger days, my father's method of information control, instead of ratings or such things, was to tell me which items I wanted to read or watch he thought would make me unhappy. I soon learned that he was often right. I'd include much of Julius Caesar as things that would make a kid unhappy.

What constitutes "too much" for children? What is okay in books/movies/film?