By PJ Parrish
So I got into an argument on Facebook the other day. No, not about that. It was over Jaws.
I posted something to the effect that I thought it was one of the greatest movies of all time. That prompted this response from a guy I came to call (in my head) Pencil-Neck:
“It isn’t even Spielberg’s best movie. It’s just commercial trash. Besides, the book is far better. You should read it.”
The gauntlet was thrown. Pencil-Neck didn’t have a chance.
Now, I admit I didn’t read Peter Benchley’s mega-seller when it came out in 1974. Jaws was a huge success, the hardback sitting on the bestseller list for 44 weeks and the paperback selling millions. Steven Spielberg snatched up the rights a year later. You know the rest.
I finally did get around to reading the book — 35 years later. I had been invited by David Morell to write an essay for an anthology he was editing called Thrillers: 100 Must Reads, put out by the International Thriller Writers. All the good ones were taken by the time I got there — everything from Lee Child writing about Theseus and the Minotaur to Jefferey Deaver writing about Len Deighton’s The Ipcress File. I chose Jaws because I think the shark ranks up there alongside Hannibal Lector as the greatest serial killer in all of fiction.
Then I read the book. Ah, geez. I was in trouble. The book was terrible.
I should have known just by looking at the cover. (I had to order a tattered used copy off Amazon). On the original cover, the killer fish looks like a toothless old dolphin. Compare that to the revised cover after the movie came out:
This is one of those rare cases, I think, where the movie improved on the book. The critics in 1974 were brutal, taking Benchley to task for “lifeless characters,” “rubber-teeth plot” and “hollow pretentiousness.” The Village Voice sniped: “If there’s a trite turn to be made, Jaws will make it.”
Alas, all of it is true. The craftsmanship is bad-pulp level. The characters are corrugated cardboard.The plot is bogged down with cheesy subplots, eratz-Cheever class warfare, supernatural omens and some gin-fueled adultry (including a cringe-worthy groping scene between the police chief’s wife and Hooper in a booth at a seafood restaurant.)
Get this: The shark gets its own point of view.
Worse: Brody doesn’t kill the shark. It dies of its own wounds and sinks to the bottom of the sea.
Now, I recognize that novels are more expansive, that subplots contribute to enjoyment, and that organizing a story around a theme is good. For Benchley, the theme was that humans prey on each other by instinct and impulse like, well, sharks. The Brody-Ellen-Hooper love triangle is thus not a messy sub-plot but the point of the book. The shark is mere metaphor for human viciousness.
Sigh.
I also recognize that movies are a different kettle of fish, that plots must be streamlined, debris cleared away, and character inner-musings kept to a minimum. Spielberg’s movie is pure genius in this regard. He jettisoned all the subplots. And he conveyed character through dialogue and action. He transformed Benchley’s moody passive-aggressive Chief Brody into a classic Everyman warrior, swept up in Joseph Campbell’s monomyth of the hero’s journey.
And he blasts the hell out of the shark at the end.
So, what did I write about for that anthology? Pretty much what I’ve told you here. But I acknowledged that the shark is a terrific character, the best-rendered one in the book. Whenever he appears on the page, he pulls the narration along in his wake and diverts our attention from the tedious human dramas on land.
Second, the book tapped into a primal but believable fear. Benchley broke a barrier between fiction and non-fiction, giving us a predator stalking the real world (a benign beach no less!) but also emerging from a place of darkness and danger. Chief Brody is all of us when he thinks (in a passage that I do like):
In his dreams, deep water was populated by slimy savage things that rose from below and shredded his flesh, demons that cracked and moaned.
Lastly, it’s a helluva serial killer story. As one character says to Chief Brody in the book: “Sharks are like an ax murderer. People react to them with their guts.” (yeah, well, quite literally, right?)
Are there lessons to be learned here for us book writers? Sure. I use the movie Jaws as an example in plot workshops — see Powerpoint slide above. This is because Jaws is easy to digest for inexperienced writers who get lost at sea with plots or drift aimlessly trying to figure out character motivation. Here are just a couple things we can learn from Jaws — book vs movie.
- Keep your subplots under control.
- Don’t get preachy in your themes
- Don’t whimp out with your ending and take the gun out of your hero’s hand.
- Don’t write icky sex scenes set at the Red Lobster.
What’s the bottom line? What did I finally tell Pencil-Neck? I told him I stood by my assertion that Jaws is a great movie. I conceded the book had its good moments. That great thriller novels always pack a visceral punch and stay with us long after we’ve turned off the light. Benchley created the second most famous fish in fiction. Not too shabby.
Benchley gets the last word: “It’s nice being a little rich and a little famous. But dammit, I didn’t intend to rank with Melville.”
So, crime dogs…do you have your own examples of book vs movie? What did you learn from comparing books vs movies? And don’t get me started on The Bridges of Madison County.
I read Elizabeth von Arnim’s Enchanted April after seeing the movie several times. Screenwriter Peter Barnes covered up a plot hole in the novel where Caroline Dester’s attraction to George Briggs lacks credible motivation. In the movie, Briggs’ eyesight has been damaged in WWI such that she’s a blur to him. She’s used to being pursued, and his apparent lack of interest is what initially attracts her.
Interesting. Usually it is the other way around, I think, when it comes to character building — that the movie often stints on the depth that you’d find in a novel. So the eyesight issue is NOT in the book? Love that motivation, that the beauty of the woman becomes moot and thus allows for the attraction to deepen.
In the book, nothing is said about Thomas (George, in the film version) having poor eyesight. Lady Caroline assumes every man to be “a grabber” and pursue her. Thomas is not that type, though he finds her outrageously attractive. I really must read the book again and watch the film another time.
I think the movie Hidden Figures was much better than the book, which was dry as a textbook. The movie focuses on several important characters and their stories, making us care about them.
Loved that movie but didn’t read the book. I take it the book was non-fiction? Is that transition harder, you think? But here’s another example: I enjoyed Tom Wolfe’s The Right Stuff, and thought the movie did it justice. I read somewhere that the astronauts and Wolfe himself disliked the movie.
Many a f noir has improved upon the source material, e.g., Double Indemnity, Out of the Past, Touch of Evil.
I agree with you about Jaws the movie.
Good point re noir. There’s something about a great noir story that just comes alive in the moodiness of black and white film rendering. Except for Chinatown, I can’t off the top of my head think of a really good color noir movie. I think the decision to film the new Ripley series in B&W was brilliant.
Body Heat is solid color neo-noir.
Ohhhh! Good comeback!
Color is used well in that movie. The first time Ned sees Matty on the beach at night — her fluttering white dress standing out in the dark — she’s like a gorgeous deadly night moth.
And the dialogue in that scene: Ned tells Matty, “Maybe you shouldn’t dress like that.” She says, “This is a blouse and skirt. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he says, “You shouldn’t wear that body.” Very Chandler…
Then when he follows her home to “see the wind chimes.” That shot of Kathleen Turner, in that blazing red skirt, seen by Hurt thru the wavy glass window — just before he hurls a chair into the glass.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a movie that I could compare to a book, but turning back the clock, I’ll say Hunt for Red October was much better as a movie, and I recall reading “Witness” after seeing the movie, but the book came from the screenplay, not the other way around.
Usually, I prefer the books.
Red October…good example! I agree. Smashing good movie while the book was turgid on the tech stuff for me,
I guess Spielberg’s touch of genius was taking a pulp fiction summer beach read and turning it into a classic horror film. The monster makes his appearance more than a third of the way through. Alien anyone? The movie sold the book.
LOVE the Alien movies. Just love them. Were there Alien original movies? Thought they were written post movies?
I am a big Michael Crichton fan. I have read all of his fiction (written in his lifetime) and one or two non-fiction. Some of the movies have been duds. I loved reading Jurassic Park. Had no idea how that book could become a PG rated movie. Well if you whack enough parts out, R becomes PG. Timeline and Eaters of the Dead (the 13th warrior) are much better books than their movies but worth watching. If you haven’t you should take a read. Sphere and Congo are just titles for movies for paychecks. Kind of a pity.
Similarly, I liked Robin Cook’s book Coma and the movie equally.
I, too, love Crichton, but I must admit the ending to Jurassic Park was a bit deus ex.
Or deus rex.
Hahaha! Yes.
For me, 99 percent of the time the book is better than the movie. As a high school kid I read Gone With the Wind multiple times, but I’ve never been able to sit through the movie. (Clark Gable turned Rhett into a dandy. I had a terrible crush on the book Rhett.) The attempt to turn Sara Paretsky’s V.I. Warshowski into a silver screen heroine paled in comparison to the books. The Harry Potter movies give J.K. Rowlings’ books a run for their money, I’ll concede. Michael Connelly and company have done a fabulous job of translating his Bosch and Mickey Haller books to TV. Books simply give our imaginations more to work with. I’m anxious to see how Patricia Cornwell’s Scarpetta books do in translation to TV with Jamie Lee Curtis at the helm. Bottom line: I always recommend reading the books first. I won’t tell you what I think of Jaws–the book or the movie!
Good points on all the examples you mention. I read GWTW eons ago but frankly my dear, I can’t remember it. I do still enjoy watching the movie, but it’s become more of an admiration thing for the technical stuff of its era.
Years ago, I turned two of my novels into really bad screenplays. A very humbling exercise in finding the essence of the story and telling it visually with action, not dialogue. Since then, I’ve not really cared if the movie was different from the novel. I feel the screenwriter’s pain.
Same here. I took a screenwriting class. I knew immediately it wasn’t gonna work for me but I learned a lot from it about novel writing. It also gave me quite an awareness of the different issues screenwriters deal with than we novelists. I love a great screenplay, almostt as much a good book.
#42 of Wim Wenders ‘Golden Rules of Filmmaking’ is this: Don’t adapt novels.
I can see why he says this. Film rarely adds much to the story; something is always lost.
I read the book North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell after I saw the four-part TV series. The book was good, but I suppose I was disappointed in it just because I liked the TV series so much. The casting and acting were beautifully done.
I am bingeing Outlander (rewatch) before new season starts. Have never read the books. Any opinions?
The Snowman is a prime example of “the book is better than the movie.” The movie condensed the best parts of the novel, including excellent characterization by the author (his name escapes me at the moment), and turned an edge-of-your-seat thriller with a clever plot into a joke of a movie with no suspense at all. What a shame.
Since this thread is still open, I must mention John Irving’s “A Prayer for Owen Meany.” The movie version, “Simon Birch,” sucked like a fruit bat on a rotten mango. [Spoiler Alert!] Owen Meany rescues a group of children by being very small in stature, able to conceal himself in an architectural niche. Irving made it clear that Owen is not a dwarf. In the movie, Simon Birch, a dwarf, is able to save himself by crawling out a window, a terrible distortion of the climactic moment and an abandonment of the novel’s very theme. Schrecklich!
Good point on that one. There are countless examples where the movie version were dismals failures. Unfortunately, see any movie made from Carl Haaisen book.