book-to-movie

Normal People

Normal People, by Sally Rooney, during abnormal times, is a-okay. For, honestly, we all need simple, easy to process stories in our lives at the moment. So here goes…

He and she met. They became best friends. They navigated adolescence and adulthood (the young, carefree kind), sometimes together and sometimes apart. But love that held them together as best friends glues them through the years, healthily and unhealthily. Overall, sounds familiar. But not so much, either.

The chapters are chronological, covering the most dramatic parts of the lives of the young adults. The fact that the novel is written without apostrophes drew me close enough to read every line (yeah, I’m guilty of skipping phrases and lines, often). And wasn’t each page crafted beautifully? If you read the book, you might agree. Or may be you’d find it disorienting, I don’t know.

There are the constant bells and music of YA novels, throughout, but it never gets too out of hand. The cheese and corn is served in just the right amount.

The characters are beautifully developed; though, I’m a little confused still, about some of the weird things that the two lovers do. They’re not very predictable. Also, how are people so clearly vile and bad? Or good and vulnerable? Where are the grey people?

Perhaps the grey is compensated for with the episodes of depression, self hate and outright stupidity. The two of them are inanely mature and immature at the same time, such that I’m positively irritated at their inconsistency in moods and actions, but then again, hey, the characters compensate for the lack of logic with emotion and drama, so it’s okay. I guess.

The drama is good. Makes you want to know more. I was glued. During these mind numbing times of COVID-19, Normal People is what I needed. 3.5/5.

(Picture courtesy: Getty)

Queen

“Will you be my Queen?” asked GMR.

“Yes,” she replied.

And, the rest, as they say, is history.

This is a review of the TV series, Queen, directed by Gautham Menon and Prasath Murugesan, which is based on the book, Queen, by Anita Sivakumaran. The book itself is loosely based on the life of the Ex-Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, Ms. J. Jayalalitha.

The TV series has what it takes to ensure the viewer binge watches for hours on end. Though, at points, it seemed necessary to fast-forward the show to cut to the chase. The drama quotient is high. The cinematography is a healthy mix of old school and the modern. It’s old school in that it has the tried and poorly tested acting style of overacting. But it has the modernistic style of cinematography in that most frames are carefully choreographed, and, as an added bonus, the make up and lighting is subtle.

The storyline is largely based on the true story of the former CM. However, there are some obvious deviations in the interest of creative ingenuity, and for the sake of averting too much scrutiny by having a “fiction” card pinned to the sets. In the TV series, it is the story of Shakti.

Shakti is the State Topper in her 10th boards. After that, she’s forced to quit studies to slip into a career of acting, to support her family, after which she didn’t get the opportunity to return to her apparently true calling, which was academics. She hung on, especially after her crucial and much talked-about career with GMR (acronym comes to mind?), the megastar of Tamil Cinema of the 70s. She is shown as someone who excels at everything she touches. She is shown to be a person who is constantly yearning for the simple joys of friendship and family. Her turbulent relationship with her mother is much reason for her worries in life. Soon after the hold that her mother held on her were released, she was caged under the close watch and overwhelming “care” of the superstar that she pledged her life’s course to.

Love, betrayal, trust, disloyalty, are the underlying themes. Feminism is at the core of the narrative, which was highlighted by the excellent acting by the three leading ladies, Ramya Krishnan, Anikha, Anjana Jayaprakash, who play Shakti. The idea that a woman can be “controlled” by others, is displayed and dispelled within the same season. The panache and smoothness with which the character transitions from being a pawn to being the Queen, is stunning.

Though I’d rate the show high for satisfying a long standing need felt in the “decent Tamil TV show” niche, I’d still call it out for some of its shortcomings. The biggest one, as mentioned previously, is the overacting by the otherwise capable actors. Likewise, some storylines within the show went unstitched, like that of the friendship with Alamelu, which was all important in Episode 7, but fully forgotten by Episode 10 (and replaced by Suryakala (ahem)).

While the idea behind the episodes and the various sequences may have been to highlight the nuances of Shakti’s life, the highlighting was rather skewed, I thought, to allow the protagonist to play the victim card rather than to celebrate the achievements she made despite the odds. For example, we know too much about her schooling, and almost nothing about the political decisions she made, save for a couple teasers that the show offered. Not enough, Gautham Menon. The feeling that Shakti is an enigma is still abound, and that has to go if she should be likeable, and isn’t that the point of a (fictionalised) biopic? If not, then, well, haven’t we found ourselves a little piece of treasure in Tamil TV?

I’m looking forward to Season II, and hope to fast-forward less. Shorter and crisper scenes, and less sermoning by the protagonist, please. I don’t want the gyan, I want to know what happened, how, and why.

So far so good okay. 3/5.

PS: I hope the title makes more sense, in the context of our democratic polity, in the coming seasons.

High School Writing 101

This is my review of Push, by Sapphire.

I want to emphasize that this book is a work of fiction. In some of my other reviews, I’ve noted that I don’t like rating memoirs, because it feels like assigning a numerical value to someone’s life and experience. I have no such qualms with this book. And now that this disclaimer is done, on with the review!

This is the story of Precious, a teenaged girl who is a victim of social injustice. She is an illiterate 16-year-old, but is determined to make something of herself. As the story progresses, she makes new friends from different walks of life, and builds a happier life for herself through sheer willpower, and with the support of her teacher.

I listened to this book as an audiobook, and was very engaged throughout. The pacing is consistent, and the story and language are not too subtle to appreciate through narration. My problems with the book are mainly from a storytelling/ fiction writing perspective. There’s simply too much going on in this plot.

For instance, here are the Problems that Precious faces:

  1. Her father and mother both sexually abuse her.
  2. She is pregnant with her father’s child- the second child that  they’ve conceived
  3. Her first daughter by her father was born when Precious was twelve. With that combination of risk factors, her daughter is born with Down’s syndrome.
  4. Precious is functionally illiterate, since she does not have a good family support system, and her studies have been disrupted by pregnancy.
  5. She is kicked out of school for being pregnant (not clear why this should only be an issue with the second pregnancy)
  6. She is obese, as she tries to numb her emotions with food. Her mother is also morbidly obese and forces food on Precious often.
  7. She is a racial minority (African-American), which shapes her image of herself. She often claims that her life would be better as a white woman, and that men are more attracted to lighter skin tones.
  8. She and her family are poor, and her mother tries to manipulate their living situation to make sure that she receives benefits for both Precious and Mongo (her first daughter)

Any one of these problems would have been a challenge; all at once just seems unconvincing. Here are some more unrealistic plot points:

  1. Precious shows extraordinary enthusiasm and determination towards learning, and progresses from the alphabet to reading and writing poetry in the span of six months. However, she has been going to school her whole life (minus a couple of years of pregnancy) and never learned to read, despite being fond of some of her teachers in the public school system
  2. Said teachers in the public school system failed to notice that this 16-year-old could not read, and did not report to child services that a 12 year old (and later, 16 year old) was pregnant
  3. Noone asked Precious to see a doctor during her pregnancy, or took her to see a doctor, even though she was a minor whose previous child had a serious genetic abnormality
  4. Precious’ grandmother was willing to take in an infant with Down’s syndrome, but did not ask why her 12-year-old granddaughter had had a child, or try to look after her
  5. Precious’ homophobia was unrealistic given that she was exposed to a lot of diversity- the fact that she came round to the idea so quickly was also odd

I did enjoy this book. But if Sapphire had gone for a less over-the-top description of tragedy, I’d have appreciated it all the more. Precious could have done better. 3/5 from me.

 

Anti-romance

This is my review of Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates. It is riddled with spoilers, mostly because it is a slice-of-life story, with no clear plot arc when it starts out. Even revealing that it is a tragedy and not a fairytale is a spoiler; so why not go all-out and tell you that one of the main characters dies in the end.

Oscar Wilde once wrote (I think it was in The Importance of Being Earnest, but am too lazy to look it up now): “The very essence of romance is uncertainty”. So what happens when there is no uncertainty? When you’re married, and have two children and a 9-5, and a cookie cutter home in the suburbs? That’s exactly what this story is about. And as Shakespeare has taught us, the story that is not a romance must be a tragedy.

Frank and April Wheeler are the aforementioned middle-class husband and wife. They have two friends, a neighbourhood couple who help babysit once in a while. Frank has developed an unfortunate habit of repeating his stories. Overall, they are far from the adventurous young couple they had been when they first met. April had been an aspiring actress, and Frank had been an intellectual, artistic young man.

In an attempt to reclaim her lost dreams, April and Frank become involved in a local organization’s play. Neither of them know it, but it’s the beginning of a downward spiral. The play is a disaster; the subsequent disappointment and anger make them realize that their marriage is failing. Until they stumble upon a brilliant plan- they would move to Paris! Now that their children were school-aged, April could go back to work. Secretarial work in Europe would pay enough to support them, so Frank could remain unemployed for a while and discover himself.

In the face of uncertainty, their romance is rekindled. Until April discovers that she is pregnant, throwing a spanner into the works and halting their excited preparations. With an infant, April could not go back to work, and their plan would have to be shelved for another 5 years. She doesn’t want the baby, but Frank, in a burst of instinctive masculinity, refuses to consider an abortion. They are at a deadlock, with a countdown timer until the last day for a safe at-home abortion.

I’ll end the summary there, with a cliffhanger to pique your interest. The plotline is aggressively humdrum, but depressing enough that suburbia is now my worst nightmare. It’s very hard to pinpoint what exactly went wrong in Frank and April’s lives. They both had to give up their dreams, but neither had very well-defined dreams to begin with.

There’s a very insightful scene in the book, in which they tell their landlady that they wanted to see their house as they would be relocating. They invite her over for coffee, and she is surprised to find them calm and happy, having a relaxed conversation while waiting for her to arrive. Is there an implicit understanding that young parents must be eternally flustered, messy and slightly impatient? Or does it take a certain amount of intrinsic happiness to be able to find joy in waiting for a realtor? There’s a lot of food for thought in this one. 4/5 from me.

what’s your favorite period movie?

This is my review of Carrie, by Stephen King. It was on the long, long list of books to be reviewed, and I recently watched the movie.

Carrie is a slim book, but it packs a punch. It is narrated via news clippings and letters, and tells the story of the destruction of a small town in Maine. By a young girl’s menstrual rage (hence the pun-ny title to this review).

Carrie White is a teenager who has lived her whole life in the shadow of her violently religious mother. One unfortunate day, she gets her first period during gym class, AKA the most inopportune time to Become a Woman. Her mother, unfortunately, skipped the SexEd lectures on account of her belief that all women are sinners. She was already an outcast amongst her classmates, and they pounced on the opportunity to mock her.

This could be a horror novel by itself (and was probably my worst nightmare back in high school), but Carrie’s humiliation had an unexpected side effect: it revealed her telekinetic powers. For several weeks after, she experiments with her power and develops her skills.

Then comes the night of the Senior Prom. A beautiful, unforgettable night. Carrie even has a date! But as she walks onstage as Homecoming Queen, someone pours a bucket of chicken blood over her, bringing up the gym class incident again. Carrie loses her cool and destroys half the town. The End.

Both the book and the movie are genuinely frightening. The book does not skimp on the graphic details, and the movie contains nudity and gore. This is not the teen drama that one would expect, given the subject matter. King has done a masterful job of converting an almost simplistic storyline into a memorable classic.

It also made me profoundly grateful for my friendly highschool classmates, who neither poured blood on each other, nor electrocuted each other with the force of their minds. 4/5 from me.

Cool Grandma

There’s a fairly large review backlog on my Goodreads profile that needs to be tackled; but I thought I would skip the to-do list for a while and review some books as I finish them. Makes for more detailed, enthusiastic reviews.

This is a review of An Education: My Life Might Have Turned Out Differently if I Had Just Said No, a memoir by Lynn Barber. Not entirely sure where that extended title came from- the edition I read seemed to have a different name. Lynn Barber is an English journalist, most famous for her insightful and incisive interviews. She has had a career spanning three decades and has won several awards, and I had no idea who she was.

There’s a movie called An Education that was based off a chapter of this memoir. When Lynn was sixteen or seventeen, she was involved with a man in his early thirties. She was a bright, ambitious girl, and desperately wanted to go to Oxford. But “David” showed her a more glamourous lifestyle than her middle-class upbringing had allowed, and she found herself spending more and more time with him.

(here lie spoilers!)

When David eventually proposed marriage, Lynn’s parents were unexpectedly enthusiastic. Why go to Oxford when you could marry well, and live comfortably? They genuinely loved the charming David and thought he would make a steady and responsible husband. It was not as obvious to Lynn, but pressure from her parents and a disillusionment in her school administration pushed her to accept. Soon after, she found that David was a conman and was already married with two children. Fortunately, she was able to take her exams the next year and was accepted at Oxford.

(end of spoiler-y section)

This particular chapter and story was the main attraction of the book, to me. In the movie, it was interesting to see how fictionalLynn aspired to go to Oxford because it represented sophistication and class and intellectual freedom, and how the same ends could apparently be achieved more easily elsewhere. The real Lynn speaks of this incident almost fondly in her memoir, as though it was an eye-opening experience. But what comes next is much more interesting.

Lynn Barber went to Oxford and, in her own words, partied as hard as she could. Her first job was at Penthouse, a soft-porn magazine. She speaks frankly about the trials of working on a new magazine, and the end of censorship in the UK. Despite the obvious stigma associated with Penthouse, she describes how much she enjoyed working there and how much she learned. She next wrote a sex manual (!) entitled How to Improve Your Man in Bed. Her approach, she says, was inspired by being saddled with a terrible dance partner- girls have to guide their partners to lead correctly, without issuing orders or making them feel conscious. I’ve no doubt that it was wildly successful.

In later years, she worked as an expert interviewer and earned the nickname “Demon Barber”. At this point, the book briefly becomes a laundry list of ’70-’80s British personalities, but not for long. She devotes a few chapters to her relationship with her husband, their family life, and a very moving chapter about his illness and death. Throughout the memoir, Barber comes across as a likeable person, and very aware of her personal failings. She is, perhaps, a bit too sure of herself, but no doubt that comes with 65 years of life experience. Her surprisingly unbiased summary of her parents’ value system and rationale behind their beliefs was eye-opening; we have all been brought up with a set of values, many of which may seem ridiculous from time to time. How many of us can say that we’ve really thought them through?

I would recommend this as a timepass read to replace those long chats with your grandmother. 5/5

A story about the desert

I’ve been looking forward to reviewing this since I got to, like, page 10. There is a lot going on in this book, and many different facets to explore. To make it even better, it was adapted into a critically acclaimed movie and I love adaptations!

Here’s my review of The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje.

The story starts with a French-Canadian nurse called Hana, who is living (almost) alone in an abandoned Italian villa. World War II is raging on, but Hana has decided to separate from her army division to care for a mysterious stranger who was severely burned after being shot down over enemy lines. Not much is known about him (apart from the fact that he is basically a human kabab) but based on his accent, he is dubbed the English Patient. Over time, two more housemates are added: Caravaggio, Hana’s old family friend from Canada, and Kip, an Indian sapper working for the British. As the story unfolds, details about the ‘backstories’ of each of the characters are revealed- each has their own motivations for joining the war. The story ends once The English Patient tells them his true identity, and in the background, the war ends.

I liked this story because it shows the impacts of war at an individual level. None of the characters are traditional soldiers, and they all join the war efforts for different reasons (all unrelated to ‘patriotism’ or bravery). I mean, why would a Canadian man with an Italian name volunteer himself as a spy? The end of the war is also quite anti-climactic. Since none of the characters were motivated by feels of nationalism, the results mean nothing to them- they must live their whole lives with the burden of what (or who?) they have lost. I don’t want to spoil the story, so I’ve appended some more analysis down below with a spoiler warning.

About the book-to-movie adaptation:

The story was very much Hollywood-ized. The story that was previously about the losses and betrayals of war was morphed into a romance of Titanic proportions (pun intended)

However, the imagery of the book is painstakingly retained. Ondaatje describes Katharine’s hair as being like a lion’s mane when the Cliftons first arrive in the desert, and Almasy refers to himself as long-browed. Both are noticeable in the movie, and are good examples of how the director cut no corners in recreating the book. Hana is charming and beautiful and Caravaggio looks the part… the disappointment was Kip. They have stripped away his backstory and motivations and character development, and he’s reduced to a shirtless, long-haired love interest for Hana. I’ll admit that his story in particular would have been difficult to translate to screen- especially the intense sapper training, but it was still a loss.

The movie won a boatload of Oscars, possibly because the themes are prime award-fodder, but it is really a very good movie.

Unsurprisingly, the author himself is very much a citizen of the world- he’s a Sri Lankan-born Canadian, and his name suggests European heritage.

This book gets a 5/5 from me. You’ll enjoy it if you like melodramatic and pretentious stories that are well written.

–HERE BE SPOILERS–

I wanted to kind of summarize why each character joined the war, and what they lost in the process.

  • Hana: It’s not very clear at first, mostly because Hana is very clearly painted as an innocent, young girl (remember the hopscotch scene?). It’s only later that we learn, from Caravaggio, about her tragedy. Her father died in the war, and was probably severely burned. Hana’s love for the English Patient mirrored the affection and care she wished she could have shown to her father during the end of his life. She loses her father and her fiance to the war, and perhaps never fully recovers (implied by Kip’s “happy ending”- Hana does not get one of her own)
  • Kip: He comes for the adventure and stays out of loyalty to the Englishman and woman who teach him about bombs. Kip loses Hana, and his faith- he becomes very disillusioned with the Western world after the Hiroshima/Nagasaki bombing. He goes back to India and becomes a doctor, as per his parents’ wishes.
  • Caravaggio: He is trying to escape from something, perhaps ramifications from his dishonest lifestyle in Canada? Oddly, he finds his place as a spy through similarly dishonest means- he leverages his Italian sounding surname and his talent for thievery. He loses his thumbs, in a particularly poetic form of justice.
  • Count Almasy: He joins the war to, maybe, find Katharine again (though I don’t think he could reasonably have expected to find her alive). He finds her, and loses his own life.

Glitz and Glamour in Singapore

Today’s review is of the book Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan.

As an urban desi, reading Chetan Bhagat is relateable. Terrible, and a waste of time, but relateable. If only because the mothers are as dramatic as my own and the grammar as vernacular as mine.

Having said that, it’s simultaneously several worlds away from me: supernatural occurrences, romance with professors’ daughters, abusive Army dads… They exist, somewhere, but aren’t representative of Indian society as a whole. I think this is probably how Singaporeans feel about Crazy Rich Asians.

Rachel Chu is a Chinese-American professor at NYU. Her boyfriend, Nick, invites her to Singapore to attend his friend’s wedding, and meet his family.

What Nick fails to mention is that his friend, Colin, is the most eligible bachelor in Singapore and is marrying a fashion icon; his (Nick’s) family is one of the richest in the country and he is the sole heir; and that his mother is controlling and disapproves of his relationship with a Chinese girl of humble origins. Shenangians ensue.

There are several subplots, and they serve to highlight certain aspects of this particular section of Singaporean society- an obsession with wealth and status, a need to maintain family appearances, and difficulties being accepted by the wealthy and influential families when you are not wealthy and influential yourself. There’s a lot of name dropping and money counting, but the family dynamics should be familiar to most- Aunties gonna Aunty, right?

This gets a 3/5 from me for being as substantial and healthy as a large piece of cotton candy.

A Country Doctor’s Notebook

Remember the Netflix show A Young Doctor’s Notebook I mentioned last time? Daniel Radcliffe plays a newly-minted doctor who is chucked into Middle-of-Nowhere, Russia, to run the hospital there. He faces syphilis, gangrene, and boredom and lives to tell the tale. It’s dark, dark humour, friends. Not for the faint of heart.

Well, when I realized that it was based on a real-life memoir (or stories-based-on-real-life, rather) , of course I had to read it. The show got over much too quickly for my liking and I wanted more stories about the horrible doctor Nika.

But- much to my dismay- the memoir was written in earnest by a sincere and competent doctor/author who lived and worked in Russia a hundred years ago. Imagine the guilt. A Country Doctor’s Notebook, by Mikhail Bulgakov is a short book but packs a punch.

A hundred years ago, Mikhail Bulgakov kept a journal about his experiences in a village hospital in Smolensk. In 1920, he published a compilation of short stories based on these years. Bulgakov comes across as an earnest young man, far from the show’s portrayal of him. The simplicity and humility of the narration (courtesy a Russian-English translator) reminded me of RK Narayan.

Unlike Malgudi Days, however, this book did not have me longing for a simpler time. It’s hard to feel nostalgic for the days of poor anaesthesia, disinfectants, and primitive amputations. Oh, and also the Russian Revolution. There is no romance, or comedy- only homesickness and desperation. It’s difficult to say any more about the stories for fear of spoilers, but suffice to say that doctors back then had unimaginable struggles.

I’ll stick to my policy of not rating real-life stories, but be warned that this collection is not especially eventful or entertaining. Interestingly though, its original publication date of 1917 makes it one of the oldest books I’ve ever read (with the possible exception of ‘classics’).

The Idiot Box, for pseudo-intellectuals

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately watching television series. The advent of streaming services like Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu and what-have-you means that a much larger variety of programmes are being released, and some of them are real gems. Plus, they’re now released one season at a time, which makes patience-deficient people like me very happy. This post will review Parks and Recreation, A Young Doctor’s Notebook, and Anne With An E. I’m not sure whether to attribute credit to the directors or producers or actors, so I’ll just say that these shows are all available on Netflix.

Anne With An E

This is an adaptation of Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery, which has always been a favourite of mine.

It’s the story of a cheerful young woman who is accidentally sent from her orphanage to be adopted by an elderly brother and sister, who wanted a boy to help them on the farm. They’re too kind-hearted to send her back, so she grows up on the beautiful Prince Edward Island in Canada. Despite being a bit of an airhead, Anne is bright and makes Marilla and Matthew proud. I like this book because it’s full of escapism- Anne avoids her problems or embellishes them with the Power of Imagination. She’s ambitious and despite getting into many scrapes always manages to endear herself to the people around her. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be a charmingly clumsy, intelligent successful girl with a fairytale romance and a ‘genius for friendship’?

But then Netflix happened. Today’s television is about gritty realism, and realistically, a young girl who’s been abused as much as Anne was is bound to have problems. Her imagination is a symptom of PTSD, Marilla is a feminist, and Mathew is NOT Mathew. It’s a completely new take on a much-loved story (especially in Japan) and fans will either love it or hate it. I, for one, couldn’t bring myself to watch more than a couple of episodes.

Watch this if you’re a fan of the original series and are interested in seeing a very new take on it.

Parks and Recreation

This show is adorable. I fully acknowledge that it is girly and derivative, but it is undeniably a feel-good show, and sometimes after a long day at work that’s just what you need.

It’s a mockumentary (much like The Office) about the employees of the Parks and Recreation department of Pawnee, a small town in the American Midwest. The government employees are exactly what you would expect- disinterested, disillusioned, incompetent (totally mucked up the alliteration there, oops). With the exception of Leslie Knope, a geeky woman with a mission to improve Pawnee’s parks- and become president.

The show really changes its dynamic after the second season and I’d recommend you start there if you don’t like the first episode or two. Watch and laugh as Leslie fights the patriarchy and bullies everyone around her into finding happiness. Seven seasons of pure cheese.

A Young Doctor’s Notebook

This show is the polar opposite of Parks and Rec. Where P&R is all about sunshine and nature and friendship and success, AYDC is about snow and wrong intentions and gangrene.

Nika is a newly-minted doctor who has earned 15 fives in his Moscow University exams. It’s unclear what the significance of those fives are, but he seems pleased with himself. Unfortunately, his book learning proves insufficient when he is assigned to a small rural hospital in Middle-of-Nowhere, Russia, during a revolution.

This is a black comedy that takes things almost too far. Be prepared for gratuitous gore… and syphilis. My biggest issue with this show is that it’s so frustratingly short- there are currently a total of 9 episodes over 2 series, and each episode is only 20 minutes long. Otherwise, it’s a very enjoyable show, if a little too brutal.

Now, back to the book reviews…