Girl with a Pearl Earring

I like the idea of this book. Someone looked at a well-known painting, saw a story in the subject’s eyes, and wrote that story down. Tracy Chevalier did a magnificent job of capturing the realism of 17^th century Delft; the setting just feels right. I loved Griet, the main character. At first she seems just short of being aloof and insensitive, but her character is revealed over time to be a near-perfect balance of passion and pragmatism.

Very little time is spent in her family’s house before she is transferred to the role of maid for Johannes Vermeer, the master painter. Although she was specifically hired to clean his studio without disturbing the progress of the paintings, her role in the household—and how she is treated because of that role—varies from character to character based on their perceptions of her. To the other servants, she is the new girl who must do all the least favorable chores. To the mistress of the house, she is someone to be feared and mistrusted because of her connection to Vermeer’s art. To the mother-in-law, she is a partner in the attempt to keep Vermeer painting, and, therefore, keep the money coming in.

The characters in the book—both in the Vermeer house and Griet’s village—are vividly created. The reader understands them on a personal level, not because every nuance of their actions is explained, but because they act like real people. Even when the characters did something I didn’t like, I accepted it because I could understand their motivations.

The ending tied things up in a satisfactory way. I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent reading this book. Griet is a beautifully rendered character whose sense of self allows her creativity to exist in a harsh world, while her sensibility keeps her grounded in the reality of her life. Overall, I have no trouble believing that she is happy at the end of the book, and that she deserves her happiness.

The movie was a bit disappointing. Even having read the book, the movie feels sluggish and pretentious. There are long moments of focusing on a facial expression or symbolic item that, if not for the knowledge provided by reading the book, may get lost in translation. In the book, the relationship between Vermeer and Griet seemed to be one of empathy and the deep connection brought about by a shared passion; in the movie, it is diluted into an uncomfortable dance around an illicit affair and tawdry forbidden love. The ending merely brings all the empty symbolism to a sad misfire of a conclusion. It was nice to watch, but it did not live up to the richness of the book.

Anne of Green Gables/Anne of Avonlea

            I watched these movies so many times, I could quote them. My mom has always loved movies like Sara, Plain and Tall; Skylark; and the Anne of Green Gables movies. I wasn’t a huge fan of Sara and Skylark (sorry, Glenn Close; loved you in the Stepford Wives!) but I never got tired of Anne’s poetic ramblings and imagination-run-wild-induced mishaps. I identified with her tendency to use big words (something I still do; my students hate it) and her seeming inability to separate her fantastic imagination from her prosaic reality.

            I did not read the books until many years later, but they are just as wonderful as the movies. Or rather, the movies do the book justice. There are definitely elements of the books that I like better. For example, Anne and Gil have a much longer friendship in the book, before the romance blossoms. (I’m not really giving anything away here; it’s pretty obvious from the start these two are meant to be.) Also, in the book we get to see much more of the process of Anne growing up, how much she fights it before learning to embrace it. She reminds me a little of Jo, from Little Women.

            There are characters in the book that didn’t make it onto the screen, such as Davey and Dora; however, many of these characters were given screen time with the all-too-short-lived series Tales from Avonlea. Unlike many TV series based on movies, it keeps the same tone of family and witty humor as the movies and books.

            One thing I like about the movies is there is no Lifetime-movie-style melodramatics. There are sad parts, yes, but the emotions are realistically portrayed. The audience doesn’t feel manipulated by heightened emotional displays.

            One advantage the movie has over the books is showing off the setting in all its splendor. From the foggy woods where Anne twists her ankle, to the “Lake of Shining Waters” where Anne nearly sinks the boat, and Green Gables itself, resting magnanimously at the heart of every plot line, the beauty of Prince Edward Island is beautifully displayed.

            I can’t really say whether I think it’s better to watch the movie or read the book first. Sometimes the book can ruin the movie if it’s too good, but other times it is nice to have those little nuances the book gives a reader before watching the visual representation of the story. My suggestion is, pick one!

            (Side-note: Don’t bother with the movie after Anne of Avonlea. However, the rest of the books in the series are just as lovely as the first two!)

Confessions of a Shopaholic

            The first novel I read by Sophie Kinsella was The Undomestic Goddess. This novel tells the story of a hard-working London Lawyer with an IQ of over 180 who is forced to flee to a small town and become a housekeeper. The main character was a strong, determined woman equipped with witty comebacks and a bank account big enough to replace all the clothes she ruins on her first attempt at laundry.

            Unfortunately, the powers that be decided that the first novel of Kinsella’s to make it to the screen would be Confessions of a Shopaholic; which, although still demonstrates the wit and talent of the author, features a selfish, dense main character who lost my interest by the third chapter.

            The movie itself is made even worse by the change the main character from English to an American. Being an American, I tend to like us, but I’m also a purist. The main reasons I love the Kinsella books are their British humor and that element of propriety that makes Britain-based characters so charming. The bitter irony is that the changes were obviously made to attract a larger audience, and the film ended up at a humiliating 25% on Rotten Tomatoes.

            That is not to say the film is not worth watching, necessarily. I love me some Hugh Dancy, and Isla Fisher is adorable. The plot is not overly predictable (unless you’ve read the books, obviously) and it’s a nice little story if you aren’t expecting too much out of it.

            I might even have been too harsh with the book; I just prefer strong characters that I can aspire to be like, and I hate shopping. I would much rather read something like Can You Keep a Secret or Remember Me?, also by Sophie Kinslla.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

            There are certain things Tim Burton should never do. For instance, he should never again attempt to direct a movie featuring an iconic comic book character. Neither should he tackle a remake when the original movie starred none other than Charlton Heston. He’s simply out of his league. However, give the man a script with just enough edginess to make a normal audience slightly uncomfortable, allow him to cast his dynamic duo—Johnny Depp and Helena Bohnam Carter—and the man will produce (er, direct) miracles.

            Roald Dahl’s books have a certain indefinable element that can only be understood when you consider who the man was. This was the author who, when his kids had sleepovers, would march them all down to stand under a bridge at midnight, and tell them ghost stories as the trains thundered overhead. Most parents would probably prefer that he wouldn’t have that strange way with storytelling; yet without it, his stories would be so much less than what they are.

            Tim Burton is able to see that element and place it in a corner of every scene. The audience can’t really point it out with any accuracy, but they know it’s there, adding that essence of Dahl to his beloved stories. The “original” Willy Wonka (from the 1971 movie) was not the character from the novel; it was Gene Wilder in a purple tophat. In his novel, Roald Dahl presented an eccentric, creative man with limited social skills and the energy of a toddler. Gene Wilder’s portrayal was that of a man who was pretending to be all these things in order to make the point at the end.

            Johnny Depp, on the other hand, embodies more of the character from the page. True, he is a bit creepier than the Willy Wonka from the book, but his performance adds even more depth to a unique and fun character. Freddie Heighmore, as Charlie, is able to hold his own against the formidable Mr. Depp. The rest of the cast does a fantastic job of filling in the rest of the scenes. I love seeing Missy Pile in any role, and David Kelly as Grandpa Joe was a delight.

            The book is, in itself, a good story. Unfortunately, it contains one of those plots that has been talked about so often that it falls a little flat on the page. Since there is no “litmus test” where Charlie has to prove he’s worthy of the Chocolate Factory, beyond merely outlasting the other children, the end seems rather anticlimactic. However, it is seldom appropriate to watch the movie and never read the book. Etiquette kindly asks that you peruse the pages before sitting in front of the screen.

The Devil Wears Prada

            The closest I have ever been to living in a “real” city is Charlottesville, which is still rural and tourist enough to fall far short of cities like Chicago or New York City. I have been to the Big Apple, though, so I can use those vague memories from a decade ago to fill in whatever scenic elements Lauren Weisberger leaves to the reader’s imagination in The Devil Wears Prada. Thankfully, the scenes are clearly depicted, so one does not have to rely too much on one’s own memories. It’s a nice balance.

            The book is entertaining, the characters well-crafted, and the plot engaging. From the beginning, the reader is able to understand the main character’s motivations, although it is also easy to see why her friends and family are so baffled by her drive, and concerned by her withdrawal.

            I had a little trouble with how quickly her friends and family protested her new working conditions—Weisberger might have jumped the gun a little. Also, most of their protestations of concern seemed to show more concern for themselves than for Andrea. All is forgiven in the ending chapters, however, with the gloriously satisfying conclusion.

I own three incarnations of The Devil Wears Prada: the paperback, the audiobook, and the movie. I listened to the audiobook first (those things are great for long drives, aren’t they?) which is an abridged version. Rachel Leigh Cook narrates, and does it well. There are a few passages for which she has to assume an accent, and she handles them nicely.

The movie was a bit of a letdown; although, to be fair, that’s probably because I forgot to separate the two. The movie removed from the book has the same elements of character development and satisfying moments of triumph for the main character. I felt that the cast was amazing—with one exception: I could not buy Simon Baker as Christian. It’s sad when such a small role can throw off an otherwise exemplary cast. I am completely in love with Stanley Tucci, and even though his character tended more toward the type of characters he usually plays than the character in the novel, it was a pleasing difference. Stanly Tucci excels as the shoulder to lean on and the wind beneath the main character’s wings, and it was nice that Andy wasn’t quite as alone in her struggles as her novel counterpart was.