As I wrap up my discussion on From Hell, I’ll turn to the movie, which stars Johnny Depp as Inspector Abberline. Unlike the book, in which the good Inspector is a proletarian street-saavy copper, the film version is an intuitive savant driven by opium-fueled visions. He is the main focus of the story, as he develops a romance with Mary Kelly, one of the prostitutes targeted by Jack the Ripper. Interestingly, the romance and its denouement have an equivalent in the book, but the movie is notable for a surprising, even bold choice that. Mary Kelly survives Jack through a case of mistaken identity, but in order to protect knowledge of her survival, the movie’s Abberline chooses to commit suicide rather than leave open the possibility that the Jack/Masonic conspiracy would use him to get to her. In the book, Abberline is left little more than a sad goodbye note as Mary Kelly escapes Whitechapel.
It’s actually quite fascinating to see how the book and the movie correlate with one another, how the same essential events take on different forms. But what I’m getting at is the fundamental difference between movie and book: Abberline is the film’s central character, whereas he is co-protagonist with Jack in the novel. And as the central character – an inspector investigating a crime – the film is structured as a whodunit in which the killer’s identity is only revealed at the end. The novel isn’t concerned with suspense as it is with philosophy.
You can see where I’m going, even if I don’t dissect all the differences between the movie and the book: structure is everything. The movie loses out on fleshing out Jack the Ripper as a character because, at least until the end, our encounters with him consist of his murders. Of course, to spend too much time on the killer without knowing his identity would also rob the film of its suspense, although the movie solves this to some extent by having us get to know Jack through his reluctant accomplice, a coachman.
So we have the same story, but told in structurally different ways – fascinating stuff for writers. But of course, the next question is, which structure is better at conveying the story? While I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the movie, I’ll have to go with the book. However interesting it is to know how a character does something, it’s the why that offers the most rewarding drama and psychological insight. All too often, stories get caught up in the thrill of action and forget the quiet, but vital, joys of introspection.
6.3.08
about new amsterdam and a mea culpa
Okay, okay. I haven't posted in a long time. My excuse is I've been writing, working, with a dash of surgery thrown in for good measure. But I should be back in a reasonable state of sanity, which means more blogety goodness. Pending my wrapping up that discussion on From Hell, here's a quick question regarding the new TV series New Amsterdam.
What on earth made the show's creators think it's a good idea to have the main character's immortality be caused by a Native American blessing/curse, breakable only by finding that one true love? It's just a silly thing to do in an otherwise well-conceived show. The drama inherent in an immortal character who is not a vampire is very compelling, and the production values are unimpeachable. But the magic fluff is just undignified.
What on earth made the show's creators think it's a good idea to have the main character's immortality be caused by a Native American blessing/curse, breakable only by finding that one true love? It's just a silly thing to do in an otherwise well-conceived show. The drama inherent in an immortal character who is not a vampire is very compelling, and the production values are unimpeachable. But the magic fluff is just undignified.
25.1.08
I saw it coming...
My review of the new "Emo Rock Musical" now playing at the Kirk Douglas Theatre, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, posted today at The Front Page. I had hope to slip by a little hint of the f-bomb, but, as they say, no dice. This is the line as it appeared in the paper:
While BBAJ does have its amusing moments, my feelings were mostly dominated by the urge to check the time and a single, uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How stupid.
This is how I submitted it:
...uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How effen stupid.
I thought the effen was pretty funny, though,of course, what I really, really meant to say was:
...uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How fucking stupid.
But The Front Page isn't that kind of newspaper. I'm not bitter or anything, as it's not a big deal. I am amused, however, by how good my Fearless Editor is at catching me red-handed...
While BBAJ does have its amusing moments, my feelings were mostly dominated by the urge to check the time and a single, uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How stupid.
This is how I submitted it:
...uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How effen stupid.
I thought the effen was pretty funny, though,of course, what I really, really meant to say was:
...uncharitable thought that I generally avoid sharing in reviews but will make an exception for in this case: How fucking stupid.
But The Front Page isn't that kind of newspaper. I'm not bitter or anything, as it's not a big deal. I am amused, however, by how good my Fearless Editor is at catching me red-handed...
24.1.08
a brief interruption courtesy of mr. bond
I'm sorry to disrupt my chain of posts on From Hell, but I thought it might be fun to play a little game. Ready? Here we go: think of your favourite James Bond movie titles. Now, here are mine:
You Only Live Twice. (Nice!)
A View to a Kill. (What a thrill!)
Live and Let Die. (Perfect!)
The Living Daylights. (As in, I'm going to scare the living daylights outta ya! Yeah!)
License to Kill. (A bit pulpy, but I like it. It's tough.)
The World is Not Enough. (It certainly isn't. Why settle for a piddly little world?)
Die Another Day. (Almost as perfect as Live and Let Die)
Now let's look at some other, workable titles:
For Your Eyes Only.
Tomorrow Never Dies.
On Her Majesty's Secret Service.
Casino Royale.
You get the picture.
Now, let's throw in the freshly announced titled of the next Bond film, which has so far been referred to as Bond 22. Ready? That title is...
Quantum of Solace.
That's right. Quantum of Solace. Although it's the name of a real, bona-fide short story by Ian Fleming, the title makes me think of a depressed quantum physicist, no doubt plagued by Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. Quantum of solace? Let's put it in context:
Live and Let Die.
Die Another Day.
Casino Royale.
You Only Live Twice.
Quantum of Solace.
What a horrible, horrible title.
You Only Live Twice. (Nice!)
A View to a Kill. (What a thrill!)
Live and Let Die. (Perfect!)
The Living Daylights. (As in, I'm going to scare the living daylights outta ya! Yeah!)
License to Kill. (A bit pulpy, but I like it. It's tough.)
The World is Not Enough. (It certainly isn't. Why settle for a piddly little world?)
Die Another Day. (Almost as perfect as Live and Let Die)
Now let's look at some other, workable titles:
For Your Eyes Only.
Tomorrow Never Dies.
On Her Majesty's Secret Service.
Casino Royale.
You get the picture.
Now, let's throw in the freshly announced titled of the next Bond film, which has so far been referred to as Bond 22. Ready? That title is...
Quantum of Solace.
That's right. Quantum of Solace. Although it's the name of a real, bona-fide short story by Ian Fleming, the title makes me think of a depressed quantum physicist, no doubt plagued by Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. Quantum of solace? Let's put it in context:
Live and Let Die.
Die Another Day.
Casino Royale.
You Only Live Twice.
Quantum of Solace.
What a horrible, horrible title.
23.1.08
from hell: movie vs book - part 2
In From Hell, the novel, a stroke results in Gull experiencing what he interprets as theophany – a vision of God – in the form of Jahbulon, a trinity consisting of Yahweh (Jah), Baal (Bul), and Osiris (On). This is the trigger that sets him on his path. As he murders each woman in turn – leaving the bodies in locations that, from an aerial perspective, correspond to the points of a pentagram – he experiences visions of 20th century London, computers and all. His last mystical experience, as he lies dying within the cell of an insane asylum, sees him traveling through time to interact with other murderers as well as notable people like William Blake, followed by a second encounter with Jahbulon and, arguably, ascension to godhood.
Of course, there’s more going on then this synopsis can capture, beginning with the question as to whether Gull is insane or not and the implications of his state of mind for his mystical visions. On the one hand, it is valid to view his theophany as a hallucination brought on by the stroke. And, by the end of the book, his mental state has clearly deteriorated just as the post-killing mutilations of the sacrificial women increased in brutality. Throw in a subtext of sexual psychopathology, illustrated by early troubles with his wife and asylum staff having sex in his cell as he undergoes his dying mystical experience, and we could make the case that his mystical experiences are delusions. Yet, the content of his visions receives validation from us, the readers, because we know that, if nothing else, his visions of 20th century London are true. This raises the very disturbing prospect that his magical rituals, and the metaphysics underlying them, have a certain reality. Gull’s insanity is insane, yes, but also ambivalently tied to an accurate, transcendental awareness of reality.
But even if we accept Gull’s view that he gave birth to the 20th century and assured its male-dominated character, there are complications seemingly glossed over by Gull. In his most vivid vision of 20th century London, elicited by the last and most gruesome murder, he is struck by how lifeless people are, despite all the toys and women’s explicit sexuality. Could it be that the 20th century isn’t what he hoped it would be? And what does it mean when, on his second encounter with Jahbulon at the end of his jaunt through time, the deity points him in the direction of an Irish village, where Mary Kelly – one of his intended victims – is not only alive and well with the child, but can see and chase him away? The fact that he killed the wrong woman doesn’t so much cast doubt on the success of his mystical mission – he gets the 20th century he created, however it may deviate from his expectations – but suggest that the feminine cannot be so easily or completely suppressed. Whether he achieves godhood as be believes with his dying breath or is condemned to hell by Mary Kelly’s curse is unresolved and, frankly, not entirely relevant. His success, if it can be called that, is not complete.
My purpose in indulging this little bit of interpretation is twofold.
First, to offer a little taste of the book’s richness. Considering that the story also deals with issues of class – rich versus poor, of course, and royalty versus everyone else – From Hell is a densely layered book. While V for Vendetta, for political reasons, still resonates most with me, I’d rank From Hell alongside it as Moore’s best work – even above the much-vaunted Watchmen, whose deterministic view of time effectively eliminates free will and, in the process, robs the conclusion of its power to render the book an empty philosophical exercise. (In other words, I’m not too bothered about Watchmen.)
Second, to offer a baseline of comparison with the movie. When looking at how other books have been adapted into films and the problems encountered in the translation (see my review of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for an example), we can see that the differences between From Hell, the movie, and From Hell, the graphic novel, go beyond adding or omitting particular scenes.
To be continued…
Of course, there’s more going on then this synopsis can capture, beginning with the question as to whether Gull is insane or not and the implications of his state of mind for his mystical visions. On the one hand, it is valid to view his theophany as a hallucination brought on by the stroke. And, by the end of the book, his mental state has clearly deteriorated just as the post-killing mutilations of the sacrificial women increased in brutality. Throw in a subtext of sexual psychopathology, illustrated by early troubles with his wife and asylum staff having sex in his cell as he undergoes his dying mystical experience, and we could make the case that his mystical experiences are delusions. Yet, the content of his visions receives validation from us, the readers, because we know that, if nothing else, his visions of 20th century London are true. This raises the very disturbing prospect that his magical rituals, and the metaphysics underlying them, have a certain reality. Gull’s insanity is insane, yes, but also ambivalently tied to an accurate, transcendental awareness of reality.
But even if we accept Gull’s view that he gave birth to the 20th century and assured its male-dominated character, there are complications seemingly glossed over by Gull. In his most vivid vision of 20th century London, elicited by the last and most gruesome murder, he is struck by how lifeless people are, despite all the toys and women’s explicit sexuality. Could it be that the 20th century isn’t what he hoped it would be? And what does it mean when, on his second encounter with Jahbulon at the end of his jaunt through time, the deity points him in the direction of an Irish village, where Mary Kelly – one of his intended victims – is not only alive and well with the child, but can see and chase him away? The fact that he killed the wrong woman doesn’t so much cast doubt on the success of his mystical mission – he gets the 20th century he created, however it may deviate from his expectations – but suggest that the feminine cannot be so easily or completely suppressed. Whether he achieves godhood as be believes with his dying breath or is condemned to hell by Mary Kelly’s curse is unresolved and, frankly, not entirely relevant. His success, if it can be called that, is not complete.
My purpose in indulging this little bit of interpretation is twofold.
First, to offer a little taste of the book’s richness. Considering that the story also deals with issues of class – rich versus poor, of course, and royalty versus everyone else – From Hell is a densely layered book. While V for Vendetta, for political reasons, still resonates most with me, I’d rank From Hell alongside it as Moore’s best work – even above the much-vaunted Watchmen, whose deterministic view of time effectively eliminates free will and, in the process, robs the conclusion of its power to render the book an empty philosophical exercise. (In other words, I’m not too bothered about Watchmen.)
Second, to offer a baseline of comparison with the movie. When looking at how other books have been adapted into films and the problems encountered in the translation (see my review of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for an example), we can see that the differences between From Hell, the movie, and From Hell, the graphic novel, go beyond adding or omitting particular scenes.
To be continued…
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