These are some of my favourite books ever, but the films have become more famous than the source material. Curious.
Possibly my favourite book of all time (depending on the day, it is always at least Top Five). The film is great, mostly because it is pretty much a shot-by-shot line-by-line faithful replica of the text. The novel is gorgeously visual, so I don’t imagine this was hard. Oh, and: Beatrice Dalle.
I mean, yeah, the films are masterpieces. Except for number three, which for these purposes we will pretend does not exist. People tend to forget that the book is a masterpiece, too. It really is. Again, the main strengths of the film are the bits that stick most closely to the book, in my humble opinion.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
This, on the other hand, is a tale of two very different beasts. On balance, I prefer the book (well, novella, really; I book version I have uses Holly Golightly’s story as the centrepiece in a compendium of Capote short stories). It’s darker and sadder – obviously a plus in my book. However, when I am suffering a case of the mean reds, only the film will do. Fun fact: Capote wanted to cast Marilyn as Holly, but the studio thought then it would be too obvious that she is a hooker.
My Summer of Love
Again, the book is very different from the film. In fact, the stories are quite different and this is a very loose adaptation. However, they share a feeling – a very sensory one of smell and taste and feel. One that I like. The book is well worth a read, and the film is definitely worth a watch – for Paddy Considine and very early performances from a fresh-faced Emily Blunt and Nathalie Press, both sublime.