The Fat Kid likes movies. No, wait - that's not quite right. If you ask my wife, there is NEVER a day that goes by that I do not quote a movie. She has likened me to the CBS Television character Anthony DiNozzo (NCIS, Tuesday nights - can I get paid for this shameless plug?) wherein I make a LOT of movie references. I don't know why, but movie quotes stick with me. And they're all kinds of quotes, too, even some from really bad movies, and some "guilty pleasure" movies, too.
One such guilty pleasure film is a childhood favorite, 'The Neverending Story" - you know, with the flying puppy-dragon-fuzzy-scaley-white thing named Falkor (called a "luckdragon," for those in the know) where the boy reading the book ends up being IN the book by the end?? Yeah, that one. LOVE the film, and I can't say why - because in truth, I don't even know. So, imagine my joy when I found the text from which the movie gets its title on the bookshelves where I work!!! I checked it out with a wide grin on my face, just waiting to go on an adventure with Falkor and his buddies. Of course, I expected there to be differences between the film and the text - a few name changes, some minor characters dropped or combined into one part - the usual stuff that simply doesn't translate to film all that easily. That stuff, I can deal with.
What I got when opening the book, though, was a lesson in why Hollywood screenwriters suck, and that a great writer in one culture can often appear as complete and utter moron in another. Or that I watch way too many movies. Anyway, I found that I disliked the book. For those who know me, the Fat Kid LOVES books. Even if I'm not a superfan of the author or the style, I can generally find some quality about the book that I like. (And if you're reading this, Becky, YES - there are even things about Martin's tome that I adore.) This book on the other hand, felt, as its title suggested, like it would never end!!!
I was merrily reading along, enjoying the story I knew and loved so well. I came to the end of the story, and realized something: I was only halfway done with the book! Those damned Hollywood producers/screenwriters forgot half of it!!!! I pushed on, awaiting the further adventures of all my beloved friends/characters. And something happened. The pace of the book slowed, idled, and seemingly came to a halt from which there was no waking. I was stunned. Not only were my fond memories falling from their pedestal, but they were being replaced by something even worse: The fear that I was a grown-up!!!!!
Oh, I pressed on, and read the further adventures. I saw a pattern emerge. The Hollywood choosers-of-movie-scripts made two errors, and one incredibly astute judgment:
Error 1) They failed to make the rest of the movie.
Wise decision 1)They knowingly failed to make the rest of the movie.
Error 2)They made a sequal instead. And a third installment, which, if you've seen it, I highly recommend a stay in the nearest psychiatric ward and or visit to a hypnotist to block it forever from your mind.
The Hollywood-ers KNEW that they couldn't sell this movie to the public if they left the second half of the book in, that's why they didn't do it! A few changes, some changed dialog, a little more here, and less there, and they discovered they had TWO movies instead of one!!!! I think this is where cocaine usage was at its highest popular level, incidentally, because it was a horrible, horrible, very bad film, more resembling a pile of dung than anything else. Yes, it's true: not everything out of Hollywood should be remembered, especially if it highlights Ben Afleck's acting "ability", a George Lucas script, or anything ever done by Jonathan Brandis, whose eyebrows do more acting than the rest of him combined. Although - to Bradis' credit, he was still young in this picture...I can only hope he's improved with age and experience.
So there you have it. My childhood fantasies are smashed, I've dredged up memories of very bad films, and my faith in Hollywood is yet again crushed by the overwhelming idiocy that reigns supreme in the front offices of movie studios. One of these days I will remind myself to not tempt fate and read the books from whence movies come. Well, unless it's a Michael Chrichton (RIP) novel.
1 comment:
Two gentle reminders:
1) Jonathan Brandis committed suicide in 2003, so your hopes for his acting improvement are a little. . .late.
2) Michael Crichton novels are sometimes good. They're also sometimes very, very bad! He was the king of the pharmacy novel, before James Patterson took over. As appealing as a sheet cake and just as deep.
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