ok. books vs movies and the idea of "accuracy". here's my example-
Above is a passage from the Godfather and it's corresponding scene in the movie. What's written in the text is essentially happens onscreen, but here's the difference in information that is actually conveyed-
The book passage:
"tells" the information, doesn't show it. The whole scene not being written out, including dialogue, specific perspective/thoughts from a character beat by beat etc. lessens its importance and our focus on it over other scenes that are "shown" (fully written out) - so the framing of this information ("scene") is distant
What's left up to the reader's imagination:
- character wardrobe
- possible dialogue
- who told Vito that Freddie was sent to Vegas, who told him Bruno was killed, who told him Michael killed Sollozzo
The movie scene
- Creates a mood with the dim lighting/warm colors that is not possible through the book
- Puts Fredo in the room (he is "off-screen" in the book)
- Gives Fredo dialogue and not Clemenza and/or Tessio, which contributes to the "family" meeting feel of the scene (especially since Fredo calls Vito "pop" and talks like a sheepish little boy rather than an adult man) versus the "business" meeting feel of the book passage- additionally, the grandchildrens' get well cards also remind the audience of the "family" aspect, further influencing the viewer's level of empathy for Vito
- Vito's approval of Fredo going to Vegas is replaced with impassiveness while Sonny and Fredo's interaction shows brotherly love- this is to show that Vito's mind is occupied by Michael, while substituting Vito's approval with Sonny's concern to show that Fredo is still cared for (again the "family" aspect which is a core theme of the whole movie)
- The medium shots and close-ups on Tom, Sonny, Fredo, and Vito bring us "closer" to the scene, versus the book's distant framing
- Vito is taken from being passive (being told what Michael did in the book) to being active, and asking where he is, after Brando acts somewhat indifferent to the "business" matters he is being informed about- this contributes to the "family" framing, making Vito more sympathetic by portraying him as concerned about the only son not in the room
- Hagen delivers the news about Michael- the most important piece of information in the scene- while Sonny delivers the new about Bruno, something that the audience and Vito does not care much about. This puts Tom in a closer position to Vito, which is emphasized by Tom also being physically closer to him and closer to the camera while Sonny remains in the background. This helps set up what we later find out- Vito trusts Tom more as he thinks Sonny is a bad Don
- Having Tom leave the room first and swiftly helps communicate he knows Vito and his wishes better than Sonny does & likewise having Fredo linger and leave last contributes to the "devoted son" aspect of his character, but also his cluelessness
no story will ever remain "accurate" from book to movie. too much meaning and information is unintentionally imbued just by putting something onscreen. they are different versions of each other, not mirror images.
movies can only be inspired by and build on books, they should create their own story from the source material and even take it further: add meaning that wasn't there, add dimension to characters and push them to their development limits, or subtract the nonsense and trim the fat to give the story better focus and greater impact
so unless a story is written with visuals and adaptation in mind you should not want an "accurate" adaptation because that would fucking suck
The sound had started off quietly, but now it became louder with every passing minute. A rattling which was annoying, almost impatient.
Ava slowly blinked the sleep away as she turned on the other side of the bed. It was dark in the room, only the flickering street lights from outside shined through the blinds.
The young woman exhaled a tired sigh, before she cuddled deeper in the warm blanket. Her mind drifted off again, when…
Rattle, rattle, rattle!
What was that? And how could it be so close?
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, scanning the bedroom for any weird signs. There was nothing strange, just the familiar walls and furnishing of her apartment.
Vanity table. Plushies. Plants.
Not a single hint of something that seemed to be off.
„Let… me… out!“
The sudden voice which growled right next to Ava made her jump, and she moved back on the bed. It definitely came from the nightstand, more precisely from the old urn on its surface.
„I can’t be that high“ She whispered under her breath, thinking about the weed she had smoked earlier. The dizzyness from the drug was long gone, so it had to be real.
The antique she had bought in a tiny shop that day was talking to her.
„LET ME OUT!!“
It was yelling at her with a dark, male voice.
„I.. O-Okay?!“ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and reached out to take the urn with shaky hands. The lid rattled again, causing her to gasp in surprise, and she quickly yanked it off.
Curious, blue eyes blinked inside as she observed the empty bin. There was a black void, but… was it moving?
Suddendly a loud swish cut through the air, coming from the emptiness of the urn and shooting past Ava’s shocked face. She fell back on the bed and saw in horror as thick, quivering fog began to form a silhouette in the middle of the room.
Lighting zapped inside the smoke mixture, it smelled like the wet dirt of a graveyard.
Like death.
The fog sank to the ground and disappeared, revealing a tall man. He was clothed in an old, dusty coat, trousers and boots which seemed to be from another century. As well as the remarkable cowboy hat which rested on his head.
Stern eyes pierced through long, black hair.
„How can a 7ft man fit inside an urn…?“ Ava asked herself loudly as her brain tried to process the whole situation. She felt unable to move and could just stare at this insanely huge being. Her jaw was dropped, fingers clenching the sheets to hold on for dear life.
The dangerous manifestation lowly groaned, before all of a sudden he stumbled backwards and crashed against the wall with a loud thud. His legs gave in and he collapsed on the floor, caughing and spitting.
Even though everything about this was odd, Ava couldn’t help it and jumped off the bed. She rushed towards the, well, cowboy guy, and kneeled next to him.
„Are you okay, Mister… fog… urn.. ghost, sir?“
„Water!“ He exhaustedly mumbled. That was when she noticed how dry his lips were, as if he hadn’t drunk in a million years. The rings under his eyes were dark, the skin as pale as from a zombie.
She shook off the sight and hurried to the kitchen, almost stumbling over her own feet. A bottle of sparkling water was quickly grabbed and she returned to the man in her bedroom.
„Here, water!“ Her voice was shaking as she handed it to him. The bottle looked so small in his huge hand, and he gave her a questioning look.
„How am I supposed to drink it, when it’s captured?!“ He snarled at her.
Ava tilted the head and opened it for him, wondering how he could be unable to do so. Probably he was confused.
Or fog ghosts aren’t able to open bottles in general.
The cold liquid wetted his lips as he eagerly gulped the sparkling water down, only to spit it out a second after. He began coughing again and grabbed the woman next to him by the t-shirt.
„Are you trying to poison me, puny dame?!! This water burns on my tongue and in my throat, what kind of potion is that?“
„That’s sparkling water! It has bubbles in it! Uh! Ah! … GAS!“
„Who puts gas in water?!“
„I don’t know! The food industry?!“
Both were yelling at each other, it was a ridiculous moment which ended in mutual silence.
He saw fear in her bright eyes, the fragile woman was clearly terrified, and so he removed his hand from the strange frabric she was wearing. Everything was confusing to him. The room. The bizarre light which came through the window. Even the water.
The time he had been captured in the urn seemed to be an eternity.
„What time is it?“ He eventually asked as he tried another sip from the bottle, making a face as the bubbles sizzled on his tongue.
Ava slowly moved away from him on the floor and ruffled her pink dyed hair. It took another minute for her to calm down from the weird screaming which had happened.
„About 2am, probably? I… I don’t really know“
„No!!“ He barked and sighed when she looked still more frightened. Being calm wasn’t that easy when she always answered so dumb. At least it was like that for him.
„Year. Tell me the year, dumpish woman“
„2021“
He rubbed his face.
„Over 1,000 years… I had been captuted over 1,000 years?!“
Haya Abu alOuf, a survivor of the #WehdaStreetMassacre in Gaza that took away the lives of 42 of her family members, neighbors, and loved ones, has something to say to the world. Hear her out!
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