There and Back Again

Disposition: Tired
Listening: Nothing
Reading: Bel Canto
Watching: House of Sand and Fog
Obsessing: Eduardo Noriega
Pondering: Few people think more than two or three times a year; I have made an international reputation for myself by thinking once or twice a week. (George Bernard Shaw)

This weekend I watched Tim Burton’s movie adaptation of Daniel Wallace’s whimsical book Big Fish: A Novel of Mythic Proportions. Although I thought the movie was visually beautiful and well-acted, I didn’t care much for it. In preparing this blog entry, I researched reviews regarding the film so I have an idea that I’m probably one of the few people who wasn’t touched by the movie.

I suppose the story is better read than “watched” or made into a movie. See, the book is almost like a collection of short stories, fables and fairy tales of Edward Bloom’s adventures as narrated by his son Will. Whether the stories are true or untrue, it’s up to the reader’s interpretation of the ending. In between these stories, Will tells of his bedside visits to his dying dad, when he tries desperately to learn the truth or not, of Edward’s stories. These were the touching moments of the book. And never quite knowing whether the adventures actually happened or not is what makes the book endearing and memorable.

But alas, it wasn’t translated into the movie. As Sam Adam writes in the Philadelphia City Paper, “Big Fish creates a hermetically sealed universe, a theme park. Even with the endlessly engaging Ewan McGregor (as young Edward) at their center, the tales feel empty, plastic. They’re fables without morals… (Tim) Burton’s fit of sophomore self-seriousness undermines the movie’s ostensible celebration of storytelling: It’s no longer enough for stories to entertain; they have to mean something. Big Fish belatedly suggests that Edward Bloom’s stories are more than wild fictions, that they spring from the world, and not just his mind.” His review summarizes all that was wrong with the movie and the snoozing viewer from the San Francisco Chronicle concurs.

It’s always sad when your favorite book doesn’t come out the way you want it to in the movies. It’s like wanting so much for others to feel what you felt when you were reading it and yet somehow come up short.