Reading 8
I have noticed that after I publish a book people inevitably ask: 'Is there going to be a film?' They ask this question in tones of great excitement, with a slight widening of the eyes. I am left with a suspicion that most people think that a film is far more wondrous than a novel; that a novel is, perhaps, just a hopeful step in the celluloid direction, and that if there is no film, then the author has partially failed. It is as if 'the film' confers a mysterious super-legitimacy upon the writer's work.
Objectively speaking, a film's relationship to a novel is as a charcoal sketch to an oil painting, and no writer I know would actually agree that 'the film' is the ultimate aspiration. Certainly, any literary novelist who deliberately tried to write something tailor-made to film-makers would fail to produce a good book, because the fact is that books are only filmic by accident.
It is, in any case, a long journey from page to screen, because the first stage involves 'selling the option', whereby, in return for a modest sum, and for a limited time, the producer retains the right to be the first to have a bash at making the film, should he get round to it. It is theoretically possible to go for decades having the option renewed, with no film being made at any time at all. This is money for jam, of course, but the sums are not big enough to be truly conducive to contentment. My first novel had the option renewed several times, and then finally it was dropped. This is, alas, a common fate, and many a novelist remembers those little bursts of hope with a wry smile.
In the case of my second novel, however, the book eventually made it over the real hurdle, which is the 'exercising of the option'. This is the point where a more substantial fistful of cash changes hands, but regrettably even this is not enough to meet the expectations of loved ones and acquaintances, who strangely assume that you are imminently to be stinking rich for ever. More importantly, here begins the battle that takes place in the author's psyche thereafter. The hard fact is, that it is no longer your own book. Although, unusually, I was asked if I would like to do the script myself, no doubt both producer and director were mightily relieved when I declined.
Novelists, you see, rarely make good scriptwriters, and in any case I couldn't have taken the job on without being a hypocrite - I had even told off my best friend for wasting her literary energy by turning her novels into scripts when she should have been writing more novels. She has had the experience of doing numerous drafts, and then finding that her scripts are still not used. I wasn't going to put up with that, because I have the natural arrogance of most literary writers, which she unaccountably lacks.
As far as I am concerned, once I have written something, then that is the way it must be; it is perfect and no one is going to make me change it. Scriptwriters have to be humble creatures who will change things, and even knowingly make them worse, a thousand times and a thousand times again, promptly, and upon demand. I would rather be boiled in oil.
It is, as I say, no longer your own book. The director has the right to make any changes that he fancies, and so your carefully crafted (non-autobiographical) novel about family life in London can end up being set in Los Angeles, involving a car chase, a roof-top shoot-out and abduction by aliens. This, from the writer's point of view, is the real horror of film.
When my book was eventually filmed, I did get to visit the set, however. I cannot count the number of people I met there who
a propos possible changes to the story, repeated to me in a serious tone that, 'Of course, film is a completely different medium'. This mantra is solemnly repeated so that film-makers are self-absolved from any irritation that may be set up by altering the characters or the story. I think that it is a cliché that is really either untrue or too vague to be meaningful. There could not be anything simpler than extracting the salient points of the main narrative, and making a faithful film, which is what all readers and writers would actually prefer.
My theory is that film-makers are hell-bent on a bit of territorial marking, and each time one can only hope that they have sufficient genius to do it with flair. There are, after all, a few films that really are better than the book, and it would genuinely cause me no distress were people to say this of the one based on my own efforts