MindsBase

1977, the year of Star Wars, the year of my birth, is also the year a quaint book was published about a boy wizard (yes, you heard right) who doesn’t know about his powers.

It’s called Charmed Life, by Diana Wynne Jones, and it is the first book in a series called The Chronicles of Chrestomanci. There are eight books set in the Chrestomanci universe, though not focused on the same characters (and written over the course of 29 years!).

Charmed Life starts slowly, in a “dear reader” fashion — a way that would not fly in today’s grab-em-by-the-throat publishing environment, and it does a fair bit of distracting head-jumping*. Those are the cons. But let me tell you something — if you loved Harry Potter, you’ll enjoy Charmed Life (and, really, all other Diana Wynne Jones books, but let’s stay focused).

In the Chrestomanci world, those who work magic are of different classes, rated by power. Warlocks, Witches, Necromancers, Mediums are every day people, living alongside those with no magic. The more powerful Magicians and Enchanters are more rare, and a person who has no selves in the other, parallel worlds is the most powerful Enchanter of all.

In Charmed Life, a very talented young witch named Gwendolyn and her magic-less brother nicknamed Cat are sent to live with a powerful man called Chrestomanci. Hijinks ensue… I won’t spoil them for you!

But alongside the fantasical, as in the Harry Potter stories, the quirky humanity of the characters and the relationships between them seem real and human. Cat and his sister have a rocky relationship, but he loves her nonetheless. This loyalty endears him to the reader, even as you grow to hate the selfish, power-hungry sister. What’s amazing to me is how it is so clear to the reader that Cat’s sister is villianous while it mostly escapes Cat’s notice. Sure, he’s uncomfortable with her behavior, often, but he never grows angry or resentful of her.

Cat doesn’t change that much in this story, which is unusual for a main character, but what’s interesting is that you, the reader, change over the course of the book. Cat is someone you find yourself caring about. He’s young and imperfect, and joins in a good many wrong deeds (that he often has reservations about but is to weak to stand against). You begin to want to protect him, to help him, to somehow get him out of his mounting troubles, especially since it is clear he isn’t going to have a flash of brilliance or a wave of courage to help.

And in the end, when certain realities about his sister are revealed, you want to cry with him, and you cheer him when he finally is angry and stands up for himself.

It’s a gentle story, in the emotions. It’s a fantastical story, in the actions. And who doesn’t love a good battle of witches (or any crazy creature, for that matter!)

I give it four out of five nods!

* Head-jumping is when the thoughts of one character are explained right on the heels of the thoughts of another. This is a faux pas by today’s standards, though I daresay only writers really notice. What a grumpy bunch we are.

So, the other night I was sorely lacking in Netflix movies, so I thumbed through my well-worn personal collection, and trumped out the Hollywood version of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice.

I own this movie, yes. I also hate it.

Or, I did hate it when I first saw it. But since I love the story (like every other English-speaking pansy) I thought I’d better let it rest and try it again later. And yes, on subsequent viewings, I’ve hated it LESS, but I still hate the poor movie as though it has personally injured me.

Why, I asked myself upon this latest viewing. I shouldbe able to rationally dissect it after a handful of viewings, shouldn’t I? Why do I have such a visceral reaction to it?

Here are some thoughts:

1. Elizabeth — is poorly cast. Now, I’ve liked Keira Knightly in other roles — she makes a great Elizabeth Swan, so she’s not inappropriate for period dramas (did I just call Pirates of the Carribean a period drama? Ho ho ho!) But why on earth did the poor woman think that spunk meant baring one’s teeth and looking as cat-like as possible. Her performance lacked elegance. Elizabeth Bennet was not brash, just spirited. This distinction is important to the story because she contrasts her ridiculous family (as well as her elegant but demure elder sister — a delicate balance).
2. Darcy — is poorly cast. Okay, I had to look up Matthew Macfadyen to see what else he’s done, so obviously I’m not an MI-5 fan. Maybe his fans were pleased. And I’m not saying it’s easy to reprise the role that made Colin Firth an immortal sex symbol. But all his mannerisms seemed off to me. He helps her into the carriage, then, upon walking away, splays out his fingers like he’s trying to shake off something disgusting. Maybe he’d gently stroke the tips of his fingers with his thumb, re-enacting the touch of her hand? Maybe he’d clasp his hands together in front of his face, bringing her touch to his own lips. Splayed fingers, not working for me. The pasty mask that was supposed to be shy indifference didn’t work for me, either.
3. Other castings — oh dear. Mr. Bingley is not a buffoon! Mr. Collins is not a serial killer! But I best move on…
4. Dialogue — Why is everyone in such a hurry to say their lines? Are they trying to fit a three hour movie into two hours? Apparently. Yikes. Slow down, people.
5. Beauty — the film lost something of the art of Jane’s book. Something the 1995 BBC version captured. I get it — they were trying to differentiate the public assembly dance from the Netherfield ball, but the assembly came off dirty and chaotic. Dude, I would thumb my nose if I were Darcy! Yet in this scene we are supposed to side with Elizabeth.

But here’s the real problem with this version: The Screenplay!The credited writer is Deborah Moggach who has no other notable credits, but as is often the case with Hollywood, the compromised story and affected dialogue may not be her fault… it may have been a case of too many cooks in the kitchen.

The thing is, you can’t rush a character story. You can’t fit all the scenes from the book into two hours and make any of them feel genuine and nuanced, subtle and understated. Pride and Prejudice is over 120,000 words long. Harry Potter six had to hack it to the bone to display 170,000 words onscreen… but then I think they’ll bleed over some key points into HP7. But I digress.

Lesson to be learned: Writing is important! A good screenplay is like the first domino. When it falls, everything down the line suffers. And it’s really hard to adapt a well-woven character story into a two-hour narrative. When adapting a classic you have this ugly desire to be “faithful” to the book. I’d rather see them be true to the spirit of the book than to the actual scenes. They tried, with P&P, but ultimately I think they failed. You don’t love Elizabeth’s spunk, you don’t admire Darcy’s reserve, you don’t laugh at Mr. Collins or understand Charlotte’s choice. Wickham and Georgiana become cardboard and don’t feel important to the plot, and poor Bingley is truly cringe-worthy. Jane and her parents survive rather well, as does Lydia. Lady Catherine is given too much screen time, presumably to play her role in the reversal of fortune at the end, but frankly the stronger motivator of reconciliation is what Darcy does for Lydia. Not that I would change the book one iota. But a film is not a book.

I give the Hollywood version of Pride and Prejudice a paltry two nods:

Last night, feeling the void where a great period adaptation should be, I put on Little Women. Ahhhh. Need satisfied*.

* To be fair, Pride and Prejudice is a longer novel than Little Women by 30,000 words.

Now, to end on a sweet note:

–Pride and Prejudice, 1995, BBC adaptation