Grumbling About Adaptations

The second season of the current INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE series has begun. I'm ambivalent about this project. It has lots to admire. The series format allows far more delving into and expansion on the novel than the movie did. The TV version restores the subplot of Louis's religiously devout brother, replaced in the movie by a simplistic premise of "my wife died young, so I have nothing to live for." Presenting the interviewer, hardly more than a boy in the book, as an aging, sickly, cynical veteran journalist revisiting his youthful conversations with Louis to set the record straight impresses me as a stroke of genius. Among other things, this technique cleverly justifies discrepancies between the novel and the new adaptation.

I dislike two major changes made by the series, however: First and less critical, the aging-up of Claudia from a little girl to a 14-year-old. Of course, the metafictional reason is obvious. A child actress would outgrow the role too fast, whereas Claudia is supposed to be frozen at the age when she was turned. But making her old enough to pass for late teens or even early twenties (though we haven't seen her do the latter) loses both the horrifying and tragic dimensions of an adult mind potentially stuck for centuries in a child's body. The preview of next week's episode, though, does show her exploiting that frightfully perverse situation as an actress in the Theatre des Vampires. She wears a frilly baby-doll costume and introduces herself as a murderous vampire trapped in the shape of a little girl.

More importantly, I was disappointed by the time shift. Sure, early 20th-century New Orleans has exciting possibilities as a setting, but so does antebellum New Orleans from the original source. Although the producers claim they didn't think audiences would find the early 19th century interesting or relatable, I suspect them of being too lazy or stingy to recreate the period. What, TV audiences didn't embrace GAME OF THRONES (medieval-style fantasy world) or OUTLANDER (mid- to late-18th century Scotland and America)? Antebellum New Orleans had a thriving "free colored" population (as richly portrayed in Barbara Hambly's Benjamin January historical mystery series). I would have loved to see Louis as a free Black businessman in that era. A fantastic opportunity wasted, in my opinion.

I recently read FRANKLY, MY DEAR, a film scholar's in-depth analysis of GONE WITH THE WIND, mostly the movie but with cogent comparisons to the novel as well. As epic movies go, this one mostly sticks about as close to the source material as could reasonably be expected in the allotted running time. A miniseries version, which would allow inclusion of the subplots left out of the movie, would be highly desirable -- except that it's hard to imagine a convincing new Scarlett with Vivian Leigh lingering in the audience's mind's eye. Not to mention Rhett Butler. (I didn't mind the replacement actress in the sequel, SCARLETT, because she's older there than in most of the novel, so it's believable that she would have changed some. Rhett, though -- to me, Rhett IS Clark Gable.) The censoring of language, required by the film code of that era, is more amusing than annoying. It's not as if we don't know what they really mean, and the director doubtless had to make concessions to earn Rhett's final "damn." For instance, Prissy can't say she'd be skinned alive for entering a "ho house"; she has to say something like "Miz Watling's place." The prudishness rises to a level of absurdity, though, when Scarlett banishes Rhett from her bedroom. In the book, he tells her, "Keep your chaste bed." In the film it's, "Keep your sanctity." A mention of chastity was considered obscene? LOL.

The one major change I disapprove of is the omission of Scarlett's first child, the boy fathered by ill-fated Charles Hamilton. We don't miss her daughter by Frank Kennedy, who's little more than a cipher in the novel anyway. But Scarlett's first pregnancy helps to explain how she could get through Melanie's rough delivery with only the dubious help of Prissy, who notoriously doesn't know anything about birthin' babies. In the real 19th century, well-to-do women often provided aid to poor families during occasions of sickness or childbirth, as Scarlett's mother does in GONE WITH THE WIND. Unlike Marmee in LITTLE WOMEN, however, Ellen O'Hara apparently shelters her daughters from such activities. So Scarlett's first pregnancy serves a plot purpose in the book, and its omission in the movie leaves her relative competence in the Atlanta childbirth sequence unexplained.

While I reluctantly realize that fiction and film are two different media and no movie or TV adaptation can capture everything in its source material, for me the book is always primary. When viewing a film version of a book, I want as faithful a rendition of the original as possible. For example, ROSEMARY'S BABY is practically perfect in that respect, and THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS comes close. The miniseries versions of WINDS OF WAR and WAR AND REMEMBRANCE (available on DVD) do an impressively good job, not surprising with a script written by the author of the novels, Herman Wouk. If the producers and directors of an adaptation don't really like the story as it comes to them, why do they bother making a movie or series of it? (Such as the travesty of STARSHIP TROOPERS, which lifts the title and superficial plot elements from Heinlein's novel to construct a script that leaves out the most important scenes of his book -- the flashbacks to the high-school ethics course, one fragment of which is included but twisted to convey the opposite of what's meant in the novel -- and directly contradicts its core message.) So the first thing I look for in a book-to-film transformation is respect for and maximum feasible fidelity to the author's story. After that, one hopes for all the other elements to be good, too.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Considering Adaptations

That is, one adaptation in particular: CONJURE WIFE, by Fritz Leiber. It was first published as a magazine serial by UNKNOWN WORLDS in 1943, later revised and expanded for reprint in book form (in a trio of novels bound together in 1952, then as a stand-alone paperback in 1953). The 1943 version is the one Amazon sells in Kindle format. Wikipedia lists three movies inspired by CONJURE WIFE, the best-known (and the only one that seems to be available) being BURN, WITCH, BURN, with a script by classic horror writers Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont. Spoilers ahead, although surely the statute of limitations on spoilers has run out for an 80-year-old novel.

The protagonist, Norman, a sociology professor at a small, private college, discovers his wife, Tansy, has been secretly practicing witchcraft to advance his career and guard both of them against the malicious magic of certain older faculty wives. He persuades her to let him burn her protective charms. With those defenses gone, they're assailed by the full force of hostile spells. Norman repeatedly tries to convince himself they're facing only coincidental accidents and the mundane hostility of his professional rivals' wives, as evidence to the contrary piles up. Finally, to save Tansy's life and soul, he has to work a complicated spell himself under her direction. Although the story feels dated at points because of the Freudian approach to psychology Norman and his colleagues take for granted, the quiet horror remains unforgettably chilling.

Aside from the deletion of a few references to World War II, the main thrust of the rewrite tends toward adding ambiguity. The original starts with a discussion among three older witches on whether Tansy knows about them. The book includes several other brief scenes from their viewpoint. As a result, the reader knows from the beginning that witchcraft is real and evil forces are plotting against the protagonist and his wife. The expanded novel, on the other hand, is narrated entirely in the tight third person viewpoint of Norman. He constantly questions and second-guesses apparently magical incidents, regardless of his contrary feelings in the moment and the fact that, by the end, the reality of the supernatural within the text is perfectly clear to the reader.

Even after Norman experiences supernatural evil firsthand in the final confrontation with the older witches, in the revision doubt resurfaces in his mind afterward. In the original version, he concludes by accepting the fact of witchcraft and assuming they're not done with it: “There’s more behind this matter of the Balance than we may realize. There’s a lot we’ll do with this, but we’ll want to go slowly and test every step of the way.” At the end of the rewritten edition, Tansy asks whether he seriously believes in everything that has happened or finds himself reverting to the idea that the whole prolonged ordeal arose from coincidence and delusions. His reply, which constitutes the final sentence of the novel: "I don't really know."

The film BURN, WITCH, BURN deviates from the book at several points. For the most part, I realize why Matheson and Beaumont chose to make the changes they did. On the basic narrative level, naturally much of the background we get from Norman's stream of consciousness in the novel has to be revealed through dialogue in the movie, mainly the competitive tension underneath the smoothly polite conversations in the early scenes with his colleagues and their wives. The script omits most of the small mishaps Norman suffers, to highlight larger potential disasters. Most significantly, the entire climactic episode of Tansy's soul being captured by the senior witch is omitted, no doubt to streamline the plot to fit into the length of a feature film. Also, the writers might have thought that situation too complex to convey effectively through action and dialogue. Probably they figured a magical arson attack was more visually dramatic. Still, I was sorry to lose the deeply horrifying moment at the end of chapter fourteen (ten in the original) when Tansy, as a soulless automaton, answers Norman's magical summons. And, above all, we lose the novel's core premise, that all women are witches even if many of us don't fully understand or wholeheartedly believe in our own powers.

I'd love to see the book fully and faithfully adapted as a miniseries, but that seems like a farfetched daydream. BURN, WITCH, BURN, however, does come pretty close. Any fans of vintage horror would find it well worth their time.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Modernizing Scrooge

Many of Shakespeare's plays have been transmuted into modern settings, such as WEST SIDE STORY (from ROMEO AND JULIET), SHE'S THE MAN (from TWELFTH NIGHT), and 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (from THE TAMING OF THE SHREW), not to mention at least one animated animal drama, Disney's THE LION KING (from HAMLET). Jane Austen's novels have become a source for modern romantic movies, e.g. BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY (from PRIDE AND PREJUDICE) and CLUELESS (from EMMA). The classic film of THE WAR OF THE WORLDS was updated to the time when it was made (1950s) rather than its original 1890s setting.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL, of course, boasts a huge number of film adaptations, some of which have contemporary settings. Three movies illustrate different ways of approaching such a project: A DIVA'S CHRISTMAS CAROL obviously takes place in an alternate universe where Charles Dickens's novel was never published. Nobody in the cast seems to find anything odd about a Black superstar singer named Ebony Scrooge with a dead partner named Marley (one member of the female trio Ebony belonged to at the beginning of her career) and a manager named Bob Cratchit who has a sick child called Tim. Ebony has a niece, rather than a nephew, with whom she reconciles at the end. This retelling is fun and, in my opinion, surprisingly good. The characters in the comedy-drama SCROOGED, on the other hand, are thoroughly genre-savvy, being involved in a production of A CHRISTMAS CAROL themselves. Its star's happy ending has one feature most adapatations don't; he wins back his former lover, the movie's Belle substitute. AN AMERICAN CHRISTMAS CAROL, whose Christmas Present action occurs during the Depression, completely revamps the story with new names and backstories for the characters within the familiar basic plotline. Although the Scrooge figure, Ben Slade, is aware of the book, he hasn't read it. It's clear he's not much of a reader, especially given his decision to destroy the repossessed contents of a bookstore for the books' paper and leather components. When he glances through the novel, he pronounces it "claptrap" and is even more resistant to belief in spirits than old Ebenezer.

Of the three, I like the last one best. The Depression-era setting resonates with the wealth-and-poverty dichotomy of the original story's Victorian background. Ben Slade (played by Henry Winkler -- very effectively, too) has similar financial power over the less fortunate characters as Scrooge in Dickens's book. In fact, Ben has more power, since the action takes place in a small New England town, where he's virtually the only rich, influential person. The wintry landscape visually enhances the story, too.

Like many classics, A CHRISTMAS CAROL can be reimagined to a considerable extent while still keeping the fundamental plot and characters recognizable (Mr. Magoo? Mickey Mouse's Uncle Scrooge?), even if a modern milieu is chosen and requires omitting the "Bah, humbug!"

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Books to Films (Again)

The premiere of the AMC miniseries of Anne Rice's INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE set me thinking, again, about film adaptations of print fiction. Is it an unpardonable sin if a movie or TV series doesn't attempt to follow its book source as closely as possible (taking into account the different media and the limitations of the dramatic art as opposed to print fiction)? When I watch a movie or series based on a novel, I'm looking for the visual equivalent of the book. I want to see a faithful rendition of the story I enjoyed reading. With this new vampire series, I hoped for a more accurate translation of the novel to the screen than the original movie offered. Well, we don't get that. Louis's story in Rice's book begins in the late 18th century, but in 1910 in the TV series. Moreover, Louis becomes a mixed-race (therefore, by law black) owner of several brothels in the Storyville district of New Orleans. The declining fortunes of his well-to-do family depend on his business to prop them up. The retold story does retain Louis's mentally and physically fragile, fanatically religious brother, whose death drives Louis to accept Lestat's "dark gift." So far, the setting of early 20th-century New Orleans has an undeniable fascination, and the atmosphere is darkly enthralling, with a tinge of twisted eroticism. On its own terms, this series looks like a compelling tale of dark fantasy. But it diverges significantly from Rice's narrative.

The fidelity of adaptations to their sources ranges from almost complete to appropriating a title and little else. THE LAWNMOWER MAN exemplifies the latter, having nothing in common with the Stephen King short story it's ostensibly based on other than including a lawn mower. On the opposite end of the spectrum, ROSEMARY'S BABY follows its original as faithfully as can be expected in the time span of a feature film, and GONE WITH THE WIND comes almost as close as feasible without turning it into a miniseries. The typical movie version of a book, though, has to select elements from the original to translate the highlights of the story to the screen, since there wouldn't be time to incorporate every scene and dialogue passage. That's why the ideal film medium for a full-length novel is a miniseries, not a cinematic feature. Then there are movies that hijack title, characters, and basic plot points, then drive the resulting product off into the tall weeds with little or no respect for the plundered original. STARSHIP TROOPERS comes to mind.

It's often pointed out, quite reasonably, that because print and film are two different media, most print narratives can't be translated to film intact. Movies even have advantages over books in some respects such as showing scenes in a few minutes that would take many paragraphs to describe on the page. Physical action, particularly, works better in a visual medium. On the other hand, books have the advantage when it comes to conveying what goes on in the minds of characters. Some novels that have been assumed unfilmable, however, have been made into successful movies. For instance, GERALD'S GAME, the Stephen King work focusing almost entirely on a solitary woman handcuffed to a bed, became a very effective streaming program.

Although I strongly prefer an adaptation that maintains complete fidelity to its source, or nearly so as possible, I can enjoy almost anything that's well made and shows sincere respect for the original.

Carter's Crypt

Slime Mold Intelligence

Slime molds, a type of gelatinous amoebae, despite having no brains, have the capacity to form memories:

Slime Molds Redefine Intelligence

One species "can solve mazes, mimic the layout of man-made transportation networks and choose the healthiest food from a diverse menu." When chopped into multiple pieces and scattered through a labyrinth, a specimen not only reunited its separated bits but modified its behavior to find the most efficient routes. As well as mapping their surroundings and retaining memories of areas they have explored, they apparently "navigate time as well as space, using a rudimentary internal clock to anticipate and prepare for future changes in their environments." The article describes some of the intriguing experiments that revealed slime molds' abilities. Lacking brains or nervous systems, nevertheless they "choose conditions most amenable to their survival" and "remember, anticipate and decide."

I once read a story in which two characters argue about the potential intelligence of some nonliving entity. One man asks, "With what would it think, in the absence of a brain?" The other one counters, "With what does a plant think, in the absence of a brain?" Do slime molds and plants "think"? If we equate intelligence with abstract thought, probably not; if we define it as the ability solve problems through adaptation, intelligence could be attributed to almost any kind of organism. If a centuries-old redwood has thought processes, they might operate on a time scale so different from ours that it couldn't communicate with us. If we visited a world dominated by sapient slime molds, would we recognize their intelligence and vice versa?

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

Classics and Monsters

Following the success of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND ZOMBIES (2009), numerous mash-ups of public domain classic novels with horror creatures and tropes were published in the few years immediately following. I've recently reread LITTLE VAMPIRE WOMEN and A VAMPIRE CHRISTMAS CAROL. Are such adaptations worth reading except as bizarre novelties? Their main appeal, judging from the types of books that have been adapted, seems to be incongruity, with fiction as unlike the horror genre as possible being transmuted by the insertion of supernatural threats into the original stories. Some others, for example, are JANE SLAYRE, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY AND SEA MONSTERS, LITTLE WOMEN AND WEREWOLVES, and WUTHERING BITES.

In my opinion, those kinds of books turn out better if they involve a certain amount of actual rewriting. From what I remember of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND ZOMBIES, it's fun to read once but not transformative enough to comprise much more than Jane Austen's original work with zombies thrown in at suitable intervals. Granted, though, the image of Elizabeth as a trained zombie-slayer has a certain zany charm. LITTLE VAMPIRE WOMEN and A VAMPIRE CHRISTMAS CAROL, on the other hand, rewrite their prototypes more extensively, although some undigested lumps of Alcott's and Dickens's prose do stand out.

A VAMPIRE CHRISTMAS CAROL raises the question of whether the entertainment value of such crossovers fades a bit when the source text already contains elements of supernatural horror. It strikes me as not too much of a stretch to have Mr. Scrooge stalked by vampires as well as haunted by ghosts. WUTHERING BITES falls into a similar category. Vampiric motifs pervade WUTHERING HEIGHTS, with Heathcliff explicitly compared to a vampire in one line. Turning him into a literal vampire-human crossbreed, cursed by the heritage of his monstrous half, fits fairly well into the original plot. In that case, the "co-author" can't depend solely on the appeal of incongruity; she has to create a believable story with an anti-hero who inspires genuine sympathy as well as horror.

A step removed from those books, which might be considered a peculiar sort of fanfic, we find "secret histories" such as ABRAHAM LINCOLN: VAMPIRE HUNTER, which I discovered to be better than I'd expected. The criterion for such novels is that the action must remain faithful to the historical person's biography as publicly known, while inserting supernatural elements into the hidden corners of his or her life, so to speak. Queen Elizabeth, H. P. Lovecraft, Lizzie Borden, and many others have received similar fictional treatment. A January 2022 release, THE SILVER BULLETS OF ANNIE OAKLEY, by Mercedes Lackey, will introduce magic into the career of the famed sharpshooter. I don't object to this type of fiction as long as the author does conscientious research into the historical background and treats the protagonist with respect.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt