Hollywood has a long, wonderful tradition of altering the classics of literature. They will do it even when trading in on the prestige of the source material. Sometimes the change is really exciting (Frankenstein the 1931 movie is likely better than Frankenstein the 1818 novel) but, probably more often, it leads to stark alterations that try to fit the book into cheesy paradigms—none more hilariously so than the 1930 film version of Herman Melville's Moby Dick.







