Book vs. Movie: The Eternal Struggle

This is something I've touched on before, but I wanted to devote a bit more time to rounding out my thoughts on media elitism. It also lets me foray into non-issues unrelated to relationship status, which is something I had intended for this blog right from the start.

The other day I met a book-loving friend for coffee, and conversation turned to what we were currently reading. I spent many years following my graduate degree in an anti-reading stupor, largely fueled by my graduate work on the multimedia experiences that I strongly feel constitute a modern sense of "reading." It's all about the way we consume stories and culture, after all, and the frustrating focus on beating dead books served only to alienate me from the medium. But I've recently rekindled (heh heh) my reading through the acquisition of an eReader, and happened to have cracked open The Road the morning of our coffee meeting.

"I saw the movie... I'm not so sure about the book yet," I began.

"Oh, the book is way better. The movie was pretty bad."

"Huh," I replied. "I consider movies and books to be separate textual experiences, separate textual artifacts. I really liked the movie." It was my polite way of saying that I discounted his opinion.

"Oh, well put,"—trying to recover his credibility here—"I think I just don't get film."

But the conversation continued to other "failed" movie adaptations of books. I listened as he expounded on how specific adaptations were not well done, all related in a tone of complete objectivity. I didn't bother to argue; in fact, I didn't bother to say anything, just let him ramble on while I tried to keep most of the smirk out of my smile. Yes. You do not "get" film. Your mistake is in trying to do so.

On the one hand, this is the type of unattractive attitude that reinforces my single lifestyle—but that's not what this is about. This is about that frustratingly nonsensical spectrum of enjoyability that people place things upon. The need to compare, to create a hierarchy, to weigh apples and oranges against each other and determine which is better. It is all pure illogic; that is the only objectivity that can be determined.

I love film as a medium because it plays on many senses to tell a story. A good soundtrack can manipulate my emotions like nothing else, to name just one aspect. And it does all this in a convenient allotment of time. Seeing a movie in the theatre adds the fantastic dimension of being part of a collective readership, a shared experience. What's not to love?

Let's take an example that my book-loving friend might understand. Say there's a book written in another language, and translated to English. A literal translation is not going to be enjoyable; the story has to be retold using different language conventions. In this example, we're only translating from words to other words. What can you possibly expect for a translation from written page to silver screen?

I'm not saying that movies are better, or that books are less multidimensional. I'm saying it's not a matter for comparison, and each should be considered on its own merit.

What's a non-issue, anyway?

If I'm completely honest, I don't really like the number 5. It's okay, but I much prefer 4 and 7. I downright dislike 3. I also kind of dislike J, but I'd still take a J over a 3.

So which do you think is better, J or 3?

That, my friends, is a Non-Issue. It's a matter of apples and oranges, and it's exactly the kind of non-issue that you encounter all the time. Maybe you've heard (or said) this sort of thing before:

"The book was great, but the movie is terrible because it's not exactly the same."
"The movie was okay, but the TV series is better."
"This dessert is okay, but not as good as the one at the other restaurant."

People invariably use the words "better" and "good" when what they mean is "I prefer" or "I like." I guess when you use the former words, you don't have to bog down your sentences with things like justification or reasons.

I'm immensely open-minded, on the verge of being rabidly anti-opinion. Certainly I've been called apathetic a good deal over the years, because of the "I don't cares" I express. But I like open-mindedness. I like approaching things without preconceptions or expectations, and derive all the goodness it has to offer. I like to enjoy things without worrying about where they fall on some giant spectrum of "goodness." Why rank things? Why let your enjoyment of a thing be impacted by the mere idea of some external thing? Even more importantly, why should your opinion of a thing impact my enjoyment of it? Arguing against somebody's likes/dislikes is generally fruitless, and invariably arrogant. It's so common, though, that I've long since ceased crediting anybody's opinions on any matter of taste.

I don't understand the obsession with ranking, with qualification. When you allow one thing to inform your enjoyment of another thing, you're robbing yourself.

The book vs movie battle, for example, always bothered me—but I couldn't place why until I took a graduate seminar on movie adaptations of books. (Okay, I dropped it after the first class; but it was an informative first class!) Books and movies are simply not the same textual experience, and each tells a story using the range of conventions peculiar to itself. Comparing them qualitatively doesn't offer anything productive, and diverts attention away from being fully present. It's like saying you didn't like a book because the soundtrack sucked.

But more importantly, all of this is subjective. It's mind-boggling how much people confuse their own subjectivity and opinions with fact.

I kind of get it. I've proclaimed myself to be anti-opinion, but even I admit to being passionate about a few things, and I understand the personal affront it can feel like when another person dismisses something you think is simply amazing. But even dismissal is preferable to the arrogance of people who actually argue with you about what you should or should not enjoy. I am staunchly anti-snob, in the sense that I don't dismiss an entire genre of anything. There are always shining examples, and life is richer for this realization. Sure I have my preferences, but I recognize them as subjective.

Allowing totally irrelevant things to inform an opinion is nothing less than a logical fallacy, a non sequitur. Where did this tendency come from, to illogically manufacture discontent?

I've been accused more than once for being apathetic, or perhaps too dense to appreciate quality. This used to seem like a fair assessment, but now I'm glad it's my way, though I'm not saying my attitude is better than anyone else's. It works for me. The fact is simply that there are a lot of things I'm largely indifferent about. I literally don't care where we go for dinner (and I'm not "one of those" who claims indifference and then complains at every option), because there's guaranteed to be something at least mildly appealing on the menu. Maybe it's not my very favourite meal, but I don't know anybody who would want to eat their favourite meal at every opportunity anyway.

Back in undergrad, Roman history class was always my favourite, though some bits are foggy after so much time has passed. I remember the prof explaining to us why one of the triumvirates had failed. One member was content to be paralleled, but not surpassed. The second member would not bear to be even paralleled. (Perhaps the third member had no strong opinion on the matter.)

Sometimes my dinner partners strike me as being the problematic triumvirate members. Rather than enjoying a given meal, they get distracted by what it could have been. Maybe the meal is fine. But is it as good as other meals they've had? And if even if that isn't enough, is it better? If other people's enjoyment seems to hinge on whether they dine at a specific subset of restaurants, why wouldn't I leave it up to them?

But the point of all of this is: there are things in this world that just are, and they should be taken as simply that. Things that don't deserve special remark. Things that do deserve to go unremarked. Things that aren't black or white, or even grey; things that can only really be what they are, if they're allowed to be without judgment or appraisal.