Book to Film | Annihilation

Annihilation’s book cover (left) and film poster (right)

Controversial opinion incoming right from the off; this was, for me, a rare example of enjoying the film considerably more than the book. This was due largely to the way it was adapted, focussing on a faithfulness to concept and tone, rather than feeling constrained to recreate the novel’s plotline, step-by-step. Indeed, there were several significant deviations plot-wise, but the strange, absorbing nature of the setting, and the dark, ethereal, hallucinogenic atmosphere were captured beautifully.

For those unfamiliar with either version of the story, it follows a woman who volunteers to join the latest expedition into a mysterious environmental disaster zone. Her husband has returned as the sole survivor of his own similar mission after being MIA for a year, though he has been evidently changed by his experiences. She joins an all-female scientific team, and ventures into Area X to try and uncover its secrets.

The main thing holding me back from loving the book was how distant the characters felt. The film addresses this by giving us much more distinct glimpses into their personalities and backstories, making it far easier to feel emotionally invested in their fates. This, to me, meant there was more at stake when the group dynamic began to fray and the psyches of the characters were compromised by Area X’s abnormalities. Many people’s reservation with screen adaptations is that they feel pared back, having been forced to cut significant details. In this case, however, I’d argue the film feels more fleshed out, providing a better hit of emotion and a greater sense of completeness without sacrificing its surreal side, or the air of mystique that hangs over Area X. Indeed, the film features some of the strangest and most unsettling sequences I think I’ve ever seen.

The visuals are gorgeous (I’m disappointed I didn’t get the chance to see it on the big screen), and I thought the cast all gave very good performances. The jumps in timeline and location could prove jarring for some viewers, but to me felt like a nice nod to the non-linear structure of VanderMeer’s novel.

The film’s principal cast. Top row, from the left: Natalie Portman, Jennifer Jason Leigh & Gina Rodriguez. Bottom row, from the left: Tessa Thompson, Oscar Isaac & Tuva Navotny.

I admire director Alex Garland for honouring the book’s spirit whilst putting his own distinct spin on the story and characters. I also admire him and producer Scott Rudin for sticking to their artistic guns. The film ended up getting a very limited release (only showing in theatres in the US and China, and being released on Netflix elsewhere) due to their unwillingness to placate Paramount by simplifying the ending, dumbing down the ‘intellectual’ feel of the film, or changing the development of the heroine to make her more sympathetic. It’s refreshing to see a case of art put before money and corporate box ticking, even if it was to the detriment of the scale of the film’s release.

Having sat with the film for several days, I find it greatly haunting my thoughts, like a dream you just can’t shake (I don’t think I’ll ever forget the scene with the bear…) For that alone, my appreciation for it is ever growing. It’s an unfortunate rarity these days to find a film unafraid of staying true to its original vision, and bold enough not to hand us all the answers, no matter how challenging it may be to the audience. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a big fan of ‘weird for the sake of weird’, and whilst I felt the book flirted with exactly that, the film took the source material’s greatest strengths and infused them with enough humanity for the story to connect so much more.

Whilst it can simply be viewed as an absorbing, surreal sci-fi ride for those who want to be weirded-out, there are also many different thematic layers to be picked apart, and interpretations to be made. To me, it explores notions of the human propensity to self-destruct, as well as the ideas of transformation and second chances. Not for everyone, I’m sure (but then neither was the book), I’d say it’s well worth giving a go if you’re in search of a film that will get you thinking. As far as screen adaptations go, this was one clearly approached with intelligence and style.

Book to Film | Strangers on a Train

Strangers on a Train’s book cover (left) and film poster (right)

Having read the book and seen a stage version of Strangers on a Train so recently, it seemed only right to complete the trio by watching the famous Alfred Hitchcock film adaptation as well.

There was much that I enjoyed about the film, and many attributes that made it a very good conversion to the big screen. It felt very faithful in tone to the original text, particularly with regards to the overall concept and the narrative of the first half – more so than the play I saw, which favoured a camper tone over the tension Patricia Highsmith set out to create with the book.

That said, Hitchcock wasn’t at all afraid to deviate from certain aspects of Highsmith’s story. Chief amongst these has to be the omission of one of the key murder scenes. By having Guy not go through with the murder of Bruno’s father, the dynamic of the second half shifts dramatically. Whilst in Highsmith’s version of events, the two characters are drawn inexorably towards each other and seem almost to merge into one being as the story progresses, exploring notions of obsession and guilt, Hitchcock’s version establishes a much clearer divide between ‘good’ and ‘bad’, eliminating the moral ambiguity of Guy and presenting him very much as the hero of the piece that we’re supposed to get behind.

This change means that the latter portion of the story becomes a race against time between the two, with Guy having to outsmart an increasingly unhinged Bruno before he is framed for the murder that did go ahead; the role of the police greatly reduced. I must say, I felt this actually resulted in a better sense of building tension than the book, culminating in a more clear-cut climax. Even if this climax verges on the ridiculous by modern standards, there’s no denying it’s a more dramatic and visually striking final sequence than was present on the page. The book went in for deeper psychological analysis of what it takes to commit a crime and then live with it, whilst the film follows the path of a more traditional thriller.

Though I found the decision to make Guy a well-known tennis player rather than an architect a little odd at first, it did serve to speed up the initial meeting between the eponymous strangers, and it worked as a handy plot device later in the story to build more tension.

The film’s cast. Top row: Farley Granger, Ruth Roman & Robert Walker. Bottom row: Patricia Hitchcock, Leo G. Carroll, Laura Elliot & Marion Lorne.

As for the characterisation, the homoerotic undertones between the two male leads was indeed still present, though definitely toned down. I found Anne less warm in the film than I did in the book; her role reduced largely to that of a stoic beauty without much impact. The sub-plot of Bruno’s alcoholism is removed, though his is still an enigmatic character that initially sits on the fence between anti-hero and full-blown villain, before landing firmly in the villainous camp. It is in fact Bruno’s eccentricity that carries the whole film, as it did the book, with Robert Walker understated though very convincing in the role.

To me, it was actually the supporting cast that stood out in terms of the performances, however. Patricia Hitchcock (yes, Alfred’s real-life daughter) and Laura Elliot were both great in their roles as Anne’s bold and amusing sister, Barbara, and Guy’s flirtatious though ultimately doomed ex, Miriam, respectively. Marion Lorne also made great comic impact with her role as Bruno’s mother.

There are some fantastic and creative cinematic moments, courtesy of Hitchcock’s distinct directorial style, and though it was due to the era of production more than anything, the black and white visuals served to enhance the old-school crime-noir tone of the story.

Having now seen both a play and a film that drastically changed the final outcome of the story in different ways, it seems Ms Highsmith’s book is destined not to receive a truly faithful adaptation, but that didn’t stop me enjoying this version for what it is.

Book to Film | Murder on the Orient Express

Murder on the Orient Express’s book cover (left) and film poster (right).

Having very recently read and loved Murder on the Orient Express, the book was fresh in my mind when I went to see the new film version earlier this week, directed by and starring Kenneth Branagh as Agatha Christie’s iconic detective, Hercule Poirot.

I suppose the first and most important thing to say is that whilst definitely not a perfect adaptation, it was one that I feel was clearly made with deep respect and affection for the source material. Though there has been a definite attempt to add some theatrical flair in a few scenes (no doubt to mix things up a little for those already familiar with the story, and to make the pacing etc. more suited to modern cinema-goers), the integrity of the core story remained very much intact.

I thought Branagh made a great Poirot. I’m sure those already invested in previous Poirot actors may struggle to get over their loyalty, but thankfully I could go into this open-minded. He captures his wise if somewhat pedantic ways well, and manages to bring a lot of warmth and humour to the character without pushing it too far, so we can still take him seriously when we need to. There is a short sequence added to the beginning of the film that sees the world-famous detective wrapping up another case before he boards the Orient Express. I thought it was a clever addition, as it establishes the character’s quirks and methods for those who aren’t yet familiar with him, making the new adaptation accessible for existing and first-time Christie fans alike, before we delve into the proper story. Without spoilers, there’s also a small moment at the end of the film that not only sets up the potential for a sequel, but also serves as a nice little inside joke that will no doubt get a few chuckles from long-standing Christie readers – as it did in my local theatre.

The majority of the film’s ensemble cast, left to right: Olivia Colman, Josh Gad, Judi Dench, Willem Dafoe, Daisy Ridley, Tom Bateman, Michelle Pfeiffer, Derek Jacobi, Kenneth Branagh, Leslie Odom Jr., Penélope Cruz and Johnny Depp.

As for the rest of the cast, it’s an impressive list of well-known actors. Pretty much all do a good job, though it is worth pointing out that the one downside of a large ensemble cast made up almost entirely of huge stars means that some big names get fairly little to actually say and do. Judi Dench and Olivia Colman are both as enigmatic as ever as a grand Russian Princess and her loyal maid, for example, though I found myself wishing we could have seen more of them. Daisy Ridley and Penélope Cruz also both stood out as highlights, but the real scene-stealer for me was Michelle Pfeiffer, who is given a little more time to flesh out her character than some of the others and does a great job of doing so.

Visually, the film is stunning, both in terms of the exterior shots of snowy mountain tops, and with regards to the sense of old-school Hollywood glamour in the design of the costumes and the eponymous train itself. Aesthetically, the film definitely captures the era in which the story was written and set.

Having fallen in love with the book so recently, the film could easily have proven a disappointment, so I’m very glad to say that it didn’t. Perhaps the aforementioned sections of added drama and action will rub a few Christie purists up the wrong way, but for me they were acceptable efforts to shake things up a little and add a fresh spin to what could otherwise have felt like a stale and unnecessary rehashing of a beloved tale. The timeless, cosy-crime vibes, the brilliant twist, and the touches of humour that have seen the book’s popularity endure over the decades were all maintained, and so for me, it’s a conversion to screen that worked overall, and I’d be happy to see Branagh and co. take on more of Christie’s tales. I think the fact that the author’s own great-grandson, who is now head of her estate, has shown a desire to work with the production team again on future adaptations of her work shows that if nothing else, the project was made with love and admiration for the book, which should hopefully please and reassure readers.

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Have you seen the new film version of Murder on the Orient Express yet? Did you think it was a successful adaptation?

Book to Film | High-Rise

High-Rise’s book cover (left) and film poster (right).

If the book version of High-Rise was a strange yet all too plausible nightmare, then its film adaptation is the full-blown fever dream that pushes its alarming themes to the next level, making it perhaps a little less accessible, yet arguably all the more disturbing.

The novel was written in the 1970’s by J.G. Ballard and was, at the time, considered speculative science-fiction, focussing on the inhabitants of a then seemingly futuristic skyscraper that held a completely self-contained society, including its own apartments, supermarket, school, salon, bank, gym and swimming pool; everything they could possibly need. When things start going wrong with the building itself (power outages, faulty elevators, no water supply, etc.) tensions arise, with the poorer residents of the lower floors rebelling against the selfish upper echelons of society who live on the top floors. They quickly degenerate into an entirely dysfunctional, animalistic state, with full-blown warfare erupting between the rival floors and alcohol-fuelled chaos reigning supreme.

What ensues is, frankly, a display of madness. It examines the class divide within British society, the risks of living within isolated communities, and the dangerous, cruel side of humanity that lies so very close to the surface.

The film version retains these major themes, and translates them to the big screen in a visually striking and stylish way that reflects the bizarre nature of the story. I appreciated that the mirroring of the degeneration of the building itself and the sanity of the people within it was retained very well. I also liked that they retained the unique timeline of the novel, opening in the aftermath of the building’s erosion and then going back to show the events that led there. I would say, however, that the film felt more self-indulgent of its themes than its written counterpart. Whilst the major strength of the novel for me was how eerily well it felt Ballard had predicted our current world, and that it thus felt so real, as though these events could be taking place in any number of now commonplace, faceless high-rises we walk past every day, it was perhaps the bold, visual and upfront nature of the film that made it cross into the realms of straight-up allegory, that whilst effective in its own way, made it feel no longer believable.

As a social satire and a warped cautionary tale about the class structure and too great a reliance on convenience in modern life, the film works, but you have to be prepared to be held at arm’s length, as it feels produced purely to convey these ideas far more than it does to tell a coherent story.

The stars of the large, ensemble cast; left to right: Sienna Miller, Keeley Hawes, Jeremy Irons, Tom Hiddleston, Luke Evans, Sienna Guillory and Elisabeth Moss.

Thankfully, the cast (which is an impressive roll-call of [largely] British talent) are enigmatic enough to hold the whole thing together, and the gorgeous nature of the visuals (including sets, costume design and hair and make-up that capture a quasi-futuristic take on the 70s) combined with a great soundtrack also helped to hold my attention and see me through the almost hallucinatory plot.

I think the major difference between the two is that I finished the book feeling firmly in the ‘I enjoyed that’ camp, whereas I finished the film feeling a bit dazed and unsure of how I felt about it. I can see and appreciate what they were trying to achieve by taking on the book’s themes, but can’t help but feel that an approach that was perhaps too stylised and surrealist will leave too many viewers feeling shut-out.

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Have you read and seen High-Rise? How do you think the two compare?

Book to Film | Before I Go to Sleep

Before I Go to Sleep’s book cover (left) and film poster (right).

Before I Go to Sleep is the story of a woman who is suffering from amnesia following a traumatic attack, who wakes each day thinking she is decades younger than she really is. Every morning, she must piece together who she is, what has happened to her, and figure out who she can trust.

Thrillers, more than any other genre, live or die by the effectiveness of their endings, and in particular the preservation of the central ‘twists’. The best thing I can say about the screen adaptation of Before I Go to Sleep is that, despite having already read the book (though admittedly it was a while ago) and therefore knowing how the story would conclude, it held my interest and gave me the feelings of tension you would want and expect from such a film.

It was, plot-wise, a very faithful adaptation, in fact. The only real change was the switch from the heroine keeping a written diary to track her memories in the book to her keeping a video diary in the film, and visually this made a lot of sense, as since this forms such a central part of the story, we would have spent a lot of time watching her silently scribbling away.

The casting choices were good, I felt, with Kidman in particular putting in a solid performance as the confused and mentally frail Christine.

The film’s principal cast, from left to right: Nicole Kidman, Colin Firth, Mark Strong and Anne-Marie Duff.

***spoiler warning***

I also felt the choice to have Colin Firth portray the villain worked well to preserve the twist, since we all tend to associate him with playing the dashing hero, and that does, at first, appear to be the role he plays in this.

***end of spoiler***

Granted, neither the book nor the film are necessarily anything especially new or ground-breaking within the genre, but as far as thriller conversions from page to screen go, I think this one fared pretty well.

Book to Film | Coraline

Coraline’s book cover (left) and film poster (right)

Coraline is a children’s fantasy novel written by Neil Gaiman which follows a young girl’s adventures upon discovering an alternate version of her world, in which everything is reversed or warped somehow. What starts as a fun and exciting jaunt soon turns sinister, however, when the intentions of Coraline’s ‘Other Mother’ become clear.

The visuals are made using 3D stop motion animation, and to great effect; this really is a stunning film. Coupled with the great soundtrack and charismatic voice performances, the eerie, whimsical feel of the book is translated incredibly well to the big screen.

The film’s principal voice cast, seen with their 3D character models; left to right: Dakota Fanning, Teri Hatcher, Jennifer Saunders, Dawn French and Keith David

There are several additions to the film (since the book itself is fairly short) and most of them are perfectly in-keeping with the tone of the source material and serve merely to enhance the immersion of the story. My one gripe however is the role of newly added character, Wybie. As a character, I actually liked him, and the dynamic between him and Coraline was fun. I even understood the decision to introduce a companion for Coraline, as though we have the luxury of getting inside a character’s head in a novel, a solo-lead film would have involved a lot of Coraline walking around talking to herself or in complete silence, which may not have worked. My issue however is that Wybie ultimately saves Coraline in the film’s climax. Throughout the book (and most of the film), she is plucky, resourceful, independent and pro-active enough to save herself even when she is scared, so this stealing of the limelight and reversion to the trope of boys-saving-girls irked me and felt unnecessary.

It’s a small complaint, but a complaint nonetheless. Aside from this one blip however, Coraline remains a fantastic and highly likable character, and I thought the film was a thoroughly enjoyable adaptation that really captured the style and feel of Gaiman’s vivid imagination.

Book to Film | Misery

Misery’s book cover (left) and film poster (right).

The next of my book to film comparisons is going to be Misery by Stephen King, the story of a successful writer rescued by his ‘number one fan’ following a serious car accident, who quickly realises that sweet Annie Wilkes may not be as well-meaning as she first seemed. Interestingly, it’s also one of King’s most autobiographic novels, with Wilkes representing his own real-life readership who he felt had been forcing him to write books he didn’t truly believe in, mirroring the protagonist’s longing to kill off his most famous character and write ‘real’ literature.

In terms of both the book and the film, I love the fact that the prisoner concept is subverted from the norm, with a woman holding a man captive and the former being the one that holds all the power in the warped dynamic that emerges between the two. I think, by-and-large, the film was very successful in capturing the essence of the original book, with its constant sinister atmosphere and infamous antagonist.

By far the most successful aspect of the adaptation to screen is the casting of Kathy Bates as deranged former nurse, Annie Wilkes. Bates understandably won the Academy Award for her captivating performance of a woman constantly on the edge, flitting between the roles of prudish, sickly-sweet caregiver and manic kidnapper.

The film has a very small cast, with the only other major player being James Caan as Paul Sheldon, the successful writer and subject of Wilkes’ obsessions. Whilst I think Caan played the scenes of Paul’s physical pain very well (of which there are a few), other than that I found his performance pretty flat. Not once did he scream, cry, well-up or yell in frustration at his situation or even show much emotion on his face at all for that matter. Perhaps I’m being harsh and his performance merely pales more so than usual because Bates is so charismatic in her role.

The film’s principal cast; Kathy Bates and James Caan.

In terms of changes from book to film, I think some of Paul’s inner turmoil is lost, as we don’t have the luxury on screen of being able to hear his thoughts like we can in the book. His fear of losing his mind, his longing to write to hold onto his sanity and his fantasies about what may be happening in the outside world are largely lost, though for the sake of pacing, I can understand why this was necessary. Along a similar vein, I think we also lose some of the sense of time. Much of the book is about the sheer boredom and constant churning undertone of fear that Paul feels as time drifts slowly by. Because the film has to keep moving, we don’t get the same notion of just how long he has been held captive.

As much as the film is famed for its cringe-inducing hobbling scene, and it is indeed painful to watch, if you’ve read the book you’ll no doubt agree when I say the version of events in the book is far more disturbing, and there are a few other cases as well wherein the violence is actually significantly removed or toned down for the film, believe it or not.

I really liked that they kept the same concept for the film’s final scenes, in which Paul continues to be haunted by the memory of Annie, though once again I think the book’s version of this scene is more dramatic and impactful.

All-in-all, I’d say this is a very good if not perfect adaptation, faithful to the tone and feel of the original text, and certainly worth watching for Bates’ performance if nothing else.

Book to Film | Rebecca

Rebecca’s book cover (left) and film poster (right).

Having read and fallen in love with Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca earlier this year, I was eager to see the much-celebrated Hitchcock adaptation; one of three of du Maurier’s stories that he converted for the big screen.

As is usually to be expected with film adaptations, there were several discrepancies from the original text, though thankfully most were minor and justifiable enough not to lose the sentiment and atmosphere that du Maurier sought to create with her masterpiece (encapsulated very well through Hitchcock’s direction and the wonderful recreation of the story’s iconic setting, Manderley), meaning that overall, I felt it was a faithful interpretation that is well worth seeing.

The cast all did a great job in bringing the characters to life. Fontaine was very believable as the naïve, eager-to-please second Mrs de Winter (I really appreciated that they allowed her to remain unnamed as in the book), whilst Olivier was as charismatic as ever. The role of Mrs Danvers shifts dynamic slightly given that Anderson is not the skeletal, older figure that is presented in the book, but the actress does such a fine job of capturing her stern, sinister essence that I can overlook it. Even smaller characters were made memorable thanks to good performances, like Maxim’s straight-talking sister and the eccentric Mrs Van Hopper.

The principal cast, from left to right: Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier, Judith Anderson and George Sanders.

*There are slight spoilers for both the book and film in this coming paragraph.* I definitely preferred the nature of Rebecca’s death in the book, given the implication that she deliberately baited Maxim into killing her so that she would avoid a slow death and he would be condemned to a life in prison, but also the warped dynamic this leads to in his relationship with his new wife, who is all too keen to help him get away with it. I understand and appreciate that cinematic code at the time meant that spouses couldn’t be shown to deliberately kill their partner and get away with it, so her death had to be made accidental, but for me this meant the plot lost some of its sinister impact.

Whilst I also appreciate that the slight change in the ending made it more visually pleasing and dramatic to a cinema-going audience, it’s the quiet menace and slight ambiguity of the novel that remains my preferred version.

All-in-all, it was a tasteful and thoroughly enjoyable adaptation that stays true to the ‘the book is always better’ rule, but stands as its own solid film that should please those who love du Maurier’s complex and layered tale of secrets and lies; longing and betrayal.

Book to Film | The Girl with All the Gifts

The Girl with All the Gifts’ book cover (left) and film poster (right).

The Girl with All the Gifts is another example of a movie adaptation that benefits from having its screenplay penned by the original book’s author; in this case, M.R. Carey.

Plot-wise, it’s a post-apocalyptic story where society has been crippled by zombie-like creatures when a fungal infection that attacks the brain and essentially takes control of the host body (based on a real infection that affects ants) mutated to start affecting humans. We follow a group of characters who must band together after the facility they have been living in is attacked, most notably a young girl with strange links to the infection who may be the key to a cure.

I definitely enjoyed the film, thinking that the core atmosphere of the book translated well to the big screen. In terms of changes from book to film, there were some I liked and some I wasn’t as keen on. The removal of ‘Junkers’ (scavengers who essentially live wild and are hostile towards those who live and work in the research/military bases) made sense in terms of pacing. It would have been too much to develop the threat of both the infected and the Junkers whilst still allowing time for decent plot and character development.

Another change that I think worked well for the screen was the more singular emphases on Melanie, the young protagonist. In the book, hers is one of several points-of-view we follow, and whilst I think this works well on the page to better develop the characters and their various motivations and perspectives, the time constraints of a film may have meant each character became too diluted if the limelight were shared equally. By allowing Sennia Nanua’s strong and captivating performance as Melanie to carry the film, we feel more invested in her.

However, there is an action sequence towards the end of the novel that was sadly absent from the film. I think it would have helped to heighten the build-up to and impact of the climax. I’m glad that the actual ending itself remained intact however, with its wonderfully eerie, bittersweet feel.

I’m aware that there was some conversation surrounding possible controversy with regards to the fact that Helen Justineau is black in the book yet white in the movie (being portrayed by Gemma Arterton). I don’t in any way advocate white-washing, but personally I don’t feel this was the case here. By way of balance, Melanie’s skin tone is also switched, with her being white in the book yet black in the movie. Thus, offering the benefit of the doubt to the filmmakers, perhaps they decided the important detail wasn’t Melanie’s skin-tone, but rather the fact that it contrasted with Justineau’s.

The acting itself was very good, with Arterton capturing the sympathetic, humane quality of Justineau well; Glenn Close great as Dr Caldwell with her analytical, single-minded focus on finding a cure, and Nanua’s enigmatic yet youthful energy being the real lynchpin of the whole film.

The film’s principal cast; from left to right: Gemma Arterton, Sennia Nanua, Paddy Considine and Glenn Close.

Overall, I enjoyed the movie, though perhaps more so than I would have had I not read the book, since I already felt invested in and familiar with the characters and their world. The main ‘twist’ of the book isn’t able to be maintained for long in visual form, meaning that the screen version does lose some of the uniqueness that made the book stand out so much in the ‘zombie’ genre, making it feel a little more run-of-the-mill. It is however still a visually striking film complemented by good performances and a more emotional, sensitive approach than most films of its type, and all-in-all, a faithful adaptation in spirit and tone if not in all the finer details.

Book to Film | A Monster Calls

Having finally been to see A Monster Calls at the cinema yesterday, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to start another feature here on my blog that I’ve been toying with doing for a while, where I compare a book to its movie adaptation. After all, any bookworms out there will surely know the odd mix of both excitement and dread that comes with the news that one of your favourite books is to be picked apart and brought to life in a new form.

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A Monster Calls’ book cover (left) and movie poster (right).

The plot of both the book and film versions of A Monster Calls centres around a young boy named Conor as he struggles to accept his mother’s increasingly ill health. By night, he is visited by a monster who pledges to tell him three stories in exchange for a story of his own; the reason behind the nightmares that plague him and the truth he won’t accept.

The first and most important thing to say is that I thought the film was a very faithful and respectful adaptation of the source material, but I would expect nothing less given that Patrick Ness (the book’s author) penned the screenplay himself. The relatively short length of the book means it lent itself very well to a screen adaptation, as it allowed for a full and thorough interpretation, avoiding the usual problem wherein large amounts of original material are often cut to allow the story to fit into the time constraints present in a film.

I really appreciated that they clearly took visual cues from Jim Kay’s wonderful illustrations when creating the screen version of the monster. I thought the visuals overall in fact were handled excellently, staying true to the eerie and almost fairy-tale-like quality present throughout the book.

A comparison between Jim Kay’s illustrations from the book (top) and the film’s version of the monster (bottom).

Though the film has a fairly small cast, they all do a fine job, with particular merit owed to Felicity Jones for her understated power as the frail yet loving mother who is slowly slipping away, and Lewis MacDougal, the young actor who plays Conor. I was so impressed by his charismatic and emotion-fuelled performance, especially towards the climax. Having since discovered that he lost his own mother shortly before production of the film began however, his authentic portrayal has taken on an even greater poignancy.

All-in-all, I’d say fans of the book can rest assured that the adaptation was indeed in safe hands and as such, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend they check it out if they haven’t already.