The Off-Center

“I’m only interested in stories that are about the crushing of the human heart.”
— Richard Yates

It’s been a week since I saw the film adaptation of Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, and I’ve wanted to comment on it but needed to give it some time to settle in. You see, it’s one of my favorite books (buy it here, maybe, because you can’t borrow my copy — I’m re-reading it.) but as much as I enjoyed the experience of watching a story I knew so well unfold in real time, I realize that my intial prediction held true: this beautiful, heartwrenching book cannot be effectively turned into a movie.

The novel is written with an intimte third-person narrative that is altogether impossible to translate to film without the often-corny convention of the voice-over (which, thankfully, was not employed). And without cozying up to the thought processes of the Wheelers, Frank in particular, almost any ounce of sympathy is lost. Frank and April are selfish, delusional, emotionally volatile, manipulative and also hopeful, desperate, loving, passionate and intelligent. They are gritty, raw characters that I just absolutely love. But on the surface they can seem snobbish, holier-than-thou and careless. The movie stripped away layer after layer from these complex, dynamic people and left us with mere outlines, overwrought with negative flaws and without the understanding of why they do what they do.

Fortunately, it was well-acted. I have always loved Kate Winslet, and she shines in the role of a woman doing whatever it takes to live the life she always dreamed she would have. Leonardo DiCaprio is also very good, but the way the script is constructed, it doesn’t give him a lot of time to get to the high, dramatic climaxes — in fact, it seems he starts off in a red-faced rage and stays there for most of the film. The long and short of it is that so much is missing, so much beautiful, glorious detail. I give the movie a B-, rating high for style and aesthetic. It would have ranked higher if it hadn’t been based on such a superior work of art, or perhaps if I had never read said novel. (Read the book before you see the movie — I fear the latter might turn you off of the former.)

But this brings me to a topic that I have been thinking about a lot lately: Choosing the right medium for the story being told. During the 2 or so years I spent writing Psychomachia, I went through an early draft of it as a play, a half a draft of it as a novel, bits and pieces of a would-be screenplay, and then I finally returned to the play. I think looking at what each type of narrative form has to offer is an important early step — all right, sure: I’m going to school for playwriting. But I’m a story teller, just like a novelist or a screenwriter. To an extent, just like a lyricist or a choreographer or a poet. Sarah Paisner would never work as a novel because getting that close to her would ruin the dramatic conceits that, I think, make it an interesting play. Likewise, Color in the Morning, my very ambitious, very messy work of fiction, could not be told in any other medium, unless there is a sudden trend of audiences desiring to watch people quietly daydream on stage for two hours.

Sometimes I wonder if my plays are “theatrical” enough. I am interested in people and philosophy, in emotion and intellect. Plot, it seems, is my weak point. So I have to ask myself, does this belong on the stage? Why? But I try, at least, not to do this until I’ve got at least one full draft. I’m bogged down enough in questions as it is.

In any event, it’s getting late and I’m feeling the impulse to ramble start to bubble in the back of my brain pan, but I would like to hear your thoughts on the idea of choosing the right story-telling medium, as well as your opinions on Revolutionary Road. No need to stay silent, reader dear. I’ll always talk back.

January 7th, 2009 | Tags: revolutionary road, richard yates, story telling, writing | Category: fiction, personal | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL