On The Bookshelf: Dan Brown's "The Lost Symbol"

- Posted by Rusty
What did I read? The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown


What did I think? In my first big English class in college, I had this amazing professor—bespectacled, Gandalf-y, and who walked around with such enthusiasm (delivered in that wise, aged British accent) for learning Middle-English, that you couldn’t help but get swept along. I think he said it best about Dan Brown: “High literature it’s not, but, damn it if I didn’t spend a whole day reading only him. As did my wife. And my son.”

My feelings exactly…

Dan Brown is not a great writer, and I don’t think his books stand up to re-readings...but the guy sure knows how to entertain and keep you reading. The Da Vinci Code was one of the most-read books of all time (I’m guessing in the same league as Harry Potter…and, um, The Bible) and it was a solid, impossible-to-put-down thriller. Tiny chapters, tons of suspense, twists at every turn, cool tidbits on history, and my personal favorite: ingenious little puzzles. Terrific fun to read...even if, once the excitement dies down, it becomes a book you shrug off more than one you’re passionate about.

In my view, Angels & Demons is actually his best book. It has all the best elements of The Da Vinci Code, but it reads like a better adventure; plus, I thought the villain’s identity was a genuine surprise, and his motivation far more interesting than other Brown baddies (including his current one). I don’t care as much for his big hero, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon, as, say, Hogwarts wizards and Michael Crichton’s dinosaur “chaoticians”; still, Langdon’s a dependable, familiar lead, and I’ll gladly follow any of his secret society-infused, puzzle-filled adventures.

And, well, I can safely that his Da Vinci Code sequel, The Lost Symbol, is a good two-thirds vintage Dan Brown: the twists are there, there are some fun new things that only Langdon could decipher, and the novel starts on the perfect footing. Unfortunately, it’s that last third that brings everything down. That’s when the book gets hampered down by some disappointing choices, complete with a twist you could see coming from miles away (and I’m never one to really figure these things out) and a cheesy, overwritten epilogue (not to mention an anticlimactic final reveal—you know, just that hyped-up, Holy Grail-like object everyone in this book was looking for).

The set-up really is excellent: Robert Langdon is called to Washignton DC as a favor to his old friend and mentor, Peter Solomon. Turns out, Peter has actually been kidnapped, and Langdon finds himself at the mercy of a man named Mal’akh, one who is determined that Langdon find a hidden object at the heart of Washington DC (Langdon is fast becoming like a male version of Angela Lansbury in Murder, She Wrote—any time he enters some historically rich city, rest assured that someone will die, and there'll be an ancient-puzzle-wielding psychopath behind it). The Suspicious Secret Society this time around are the Freemasons (also mentioned in The Da Vinci Code…and, well, National Treasure...but I think Brown will hate that comparison), and one of their core beliefs is called into question as Langdon races to save Peter before Mal’akh could put his plan into action.

Brown deserves credit for finally giving Langdon some character details—here, Langdon struggles against his own skepticism and unwillingness to “believe,” and, really, just tries his best to save the man who means so much to him. In the previous novels, Langdon didn’t really have a connection to the crazy events around him—giving him something personal to latch onto gives the novel an emotional push that I thought the others were missing. Plus (and maybe I’m the only one really happy about this), kudos to Brown for finally giving Langdon an age-appropriate, believable love interest. It would have been really hard to accept another impossibly gorgeous particle physicist (or, for that matter, a French cryptographer) who’s instantly attracted to Langdon; Peter Solomon’s sister, Katherine, a Noetic scientist and someone who holds a special connection to the plot, feels like a much more natural match.

There’s also a nice running theme about learning to see things from a different perspective; the book doesn’t get bogged down in big ideas, but this was a nice touch. One's perception of things could change dramatically if they approach it in a different manner, essentially seeing it in its best light—I think it’s true in everyday life, and Brown uses that idea in pretty clever ways, especially with regards to the book’s major puzzles.

Sadly, though, the novel falls apart as we head toward the end. I remember this was actually supposed to hit shelves three years ago (under the much-better title of The Solomon Key), but was suddenly delayed. While I’ve never been under the kind of pressure Brown was (it must be insanely hard to top one’s own phenomenon), I have a sneaky feeling that he had trouble resolving his messy plotline. He’s got too many characters here, way too many secrets to juggle, and I think he struggled with how to best get his characters to the climactic site and make it feel like a natural part of the story. And that’s when the novel resorts to moronic decisions by the CIA (really, once you read it, you’ll be amazed too…especially since the CIA director did nothing but yell at Langdon early in the book for his poor decision-making) and major pacing lags as Brown tries to cram too much information before and after the climax (most notably with Mal’akh, for it seems Brown realized late in the game that we still don’t know what he actually wants).

Worst of all, perhaps, is that Brown failed to give the story an air of danger, with something real and palpable at stake. In The Da Vinci Code, it was the nature of Christianity; in Angels & Demons, it was a time-bomb in Vatican City—both are good, game-changing threats, ones where you understand the significance if Langdon fails. Here (and maybe it’s just me), it’s really hard to sympathize with the “national security” matter that the CIA informs us of. We get that requisite moment—the CIA director shows Langdon something secret (carefully hidden from the reader up until that point), Langdon gasps in horror, and we, as the audience, are supposed to finally click with an understanding of just how crucial their mission is. Too bad it didn’t feel like anything that dangerous; I could be wrong here, but the consequences seemed to be a lot less dire than everyone in the book complained about. It’s hard to believe that this one piece of information would cause such fuss and hysteria…let alone the anarchy that Langdon very seriously warns us about.

All of these weaknesses would be a lot easier to stomach if the characters and the emotions of the story were actually worthwhile. Although Langdon gets a bit more to do this time around, it’s not enough to distract us from the one-note group of people surrounding him, including the tattooed, philosophical villain who gets resolved in whimper of a final twist. Brown is certainly talented (his ability to hold a reader’s interest deserves a lot of respect); I just wish he’d learn to give us actual people to root for, as opposed to walking, talking information-sources. Michael Crichton was my favorite popular writer growing up, and Brown could really learn a thing or two from him. Crichton’s novels had the same basic formula: smart people caught up in historical/technological conspiracies…but something like Timeline (my pick for his best book after Sphere) has more depth to it—more character, more heart, and a much more lasting imprint. Brown has a gift for tightly-reined suspense, visual puzzles, and some tempting historical mysteries, and I know he has good, entertaining books left in him. This one is just not it.

Would I recommend it? Yes and no…although I’m leaning towards “no” the more I think about the book.

You do get some great twists and suspense scenes, you learn tons of cool factoids about the Masons and Washington DC (something I knew pretty little about—Brown is always good for some nice facts to store away about art, architecture, and history)…but, past the halfway mark, it becomes a truly frustrating read. Characters make stupid choices, and I think a lot of readers will be disappointed by Brown’s ending and biggest revelations (not to mention their surprising corniness).

You won’t be angry you picked this up—it’ll be a fast read, and you’ll probably enjoy it for at least a good majority. But this can’t hold a handle to the equally compulsively-readable Harry Potter, or even Brown’s own earlier Langdon novels. At best, this is a missed opportunity; Brown has a good formula (even if it’s wearing a bit thin), and I’m hoping the so-so critical reception of this one will spark those creative juices of his to give us a far better follow-up novel.

I know, it’s incredibly easy to criticize—let’s see me try and write one of these novels. The fact remains that Brown is an enormous success, and he’s far more adept at crafting these kinds of addicting reads than I ever could be. But he could do better. And, for a smart guy (and an English professor!), he has to know it.

Would it make a good movie? Maybe...but it would depend on the filmmakers taking a few liberties with the source material. I’m not a fan of the Dan Brown adaptations to begin with (more on that in a bit), but you could clearly see when reading the other two books how they could make great films. Both Angels & Demons and The Da Vinci Code had breakneck pacing and pretty much non-stop thrills—excellent recipes for the book-to-film jump. They also had pretty solid plotlines—sure, not much character and tons of logic gaps, but both stories ran smoothly and led to an appropriate conclusion. The Lost Symbol, on the other hand, starts in that Brown-perfected, thrill-a-minute manner, but then gives way to a ludicrous (and very talky) final act. It will be hard to take seriously, and, well, it will also be hard to ignore that National Treasure took place in DC too, and (although very, very few agree with me) gave us similar story beats with much more panache…and with a great deal more fun too.

I think the key will be Langdon’s relationship with Peter Solomon—the book gives us glimpses into their decades-long friendship, and the film could expand on that—make us feel the personal mission Langdon needs to accomplish, and giving the movie a much-needed dose of character in the process.

For everything else, I think some chunks of the book would have to be rewritten; the premise and puzzles could stay the same, but the messy final chapters and a good deal of the Mal’akh material should probably be toned down...or revamped with some creative additions. In my eyes, the best solution would be to use the novel as a base point. Hire a talented writer (like Angels & Demons script-polisher and Spielberg-favorite, David Koepp) and give them some creative license. The novel has a lot of problems, but it has the undeniable backbone of a good thriller; perhaps some fresh eyes and new ideas could do the story a world of good.

With that, this could be a golden opportunity to actually make a strong Robert Langdon movie. Take the basics from the novel, but then start from scratch with the other elements. You’ll still have the chases and the ancient artifacts and the Masons, but now the filmmakers could finally give Tom Hanks and co. something meaningful to do. Some innovation and a break from the source material might be just what this franchise needs—just look what it did for Jason Bourne (which bears little resemblance to their original novels, other than title and set-up)!


Is it a movie? Not yet…but you can bet we’ll see one in the next few years. From what I know, Sony Pictures had an early copy of the manuscript, and they already set their writers off to work on a script. Both director Ron Howard and star Tom Hanks are set to return in what will most likely be the final hurrah for this series.

Honestly, I think the Dan Brown movies before went with the wrong approach; my biggest problem with the Da Vince Code and Angels & Demons movies is that they took the source material so seriously. Yes, the novels have a historical bend to them…but they’re not high-minded literature. It’s amazing that two of the most readable novels turned into movies that were borderline boring at times (although Angels & Demons was a big improvement over the first). By being so reverent to the material, the movies lost the pulpy fun of the original books. What happened to the excitement of solving the puzzles? The edge-of-your-seat chases? That breathless energy? The books are brainy entertainment at best; why try to make the films Important, complete with deep discussions of faith and religion?

In my eyes, National Treasure (itself an heir of Indiana Jones) is the best take on such material. Say what you will about those movies—yes, they’re often corny, convoluted (how is finding a city of gold meant to clear Nicolas Cage’s family name in the Lincoln assassination??), and groan-inducing…but you can’t deny they produce a rousing time at the movies. These films embraced the ridiculousness of the material, while never losing that infectious spirit of discovering historical secrets. They don’t expect us to take them too seriously (case in point: the invisible treasure map on the Declaration of Independence!), and the characters are developed enough that we’ll follow them for the ride anyway. And, really, I think I’m not alone in that I’d rather spend time with Nicolas Cage’s colorful group of treasure hunters instead of Tom Hanks’ pensive intellectual. (Even Indiana Jones had religion-based storylines, and it still managed to be smart and heartfelt entertainment…while never losing the pure joy and excitement the series was supposed to deliver.)

If The Lost Symbol becomes a movie (and it most surely will), this could be the chance to finally energize this franchise. Re-write some of Brown’s novel and make it a personal journey for Robert Langdon. Let him actually enjoy the process of cracking some centuries-old codes. Director Ron Howard (who did the last two films) is a smart, capable filmmaker and Tom Hanks is one of our very best actors—that combination has to produce something good for us in the long run.


Here’s hoping this coming adaptation could break apart for the others. The potential is there, and maybe it will take the weakest book in the series to make the filmmakers realize it. After all, Indiana Jones and Nicolas Cage can’t dominate the historical-artifacts field forever… Here’s your chance, Professor Langdon—step up and give us an adventure worth caring about!

And, as always, here are some fun facts before we go…

Fun Fact 1: Ralph Fiennes, Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, George Clooney, and Bill Paxton were all considered for the role of Robert Langdon before Ron Howard ultimately chose Tom Hanks. All fine actors, to be sure, but my personal pick of the bunch would be Hugh Jackman (even if he’s a decade too young for the role)—he has just the right amount of charisma and smarts, and would have easily pulled off an academic who’s quick on his feet.

Actually, the best choice (and Dan Brown even hinted to this in the novel) would have been a Harrison Ford in his 50’s. Oh, well, guess Ford will just have to fall back on another treasure-hunting character...

Fun Fact 2: Alfred Molina, another very good actor (Doc Ock in Spider Man 2, the Count in Chocolat) played Bishop Aringarosa in The Da Vinci Code. I have trouble remembering what his character did in the novel, but (MINOR SPOILER ALERT) it was all mainly a distraction from the true villain’s identity. In fact, Aringarosa is Italian for “red herring,” a popular term in mystery novels/movies for those suspicious characters meant to take the reader’s attention away from the story’s big secrets.

For an extra bit of coolness, Molina did the voiceover for the Angels & Demons teaser (see it below—it’s actually an excellent trailer) in a distinctly American voice. And, for those who watched the film, he does the opening narration as well, but this time in his native British accent.

Angels & Demons Trailer:

The Da Vinci Code Trailer:

--And that’s it for another “On the Bookshelf”. Thanks for sticking with me, guys; this is by far my favorite column to do, so I’m going to try to be much more consistent about it. And now I turn the floor to you. Did anyone read The Lost Symbol? Do you disagree with my take on it? (Luke and I are actually at odds on this one—he really liked it, while, as you can see, it drove me crazy when the book started falling off its rails). And how do you feel about the Tom Hanks adaptations?

For my next column, to complete my Up-inspired obsession with old adventure novels (something I really should have embraced as a kid), I’ll finally do the original 1912 The Lost World by Sherlock Holmes mastermind, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, followed by Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island (inspired by watching Treasure Planet with my friend—man, I need to stop watching cartoon adaptations…). Then, if all goes well (and I keep reading instead of procrastinating and discovering new TV shows), I’ll have Inkheart, The Lovely Bones, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night, and Austen’s Sense & Sensibility for you. And, even though I read it before, I’m really tempted to flip through my just-rediscovered copy of Timeline, one of my favorite modern thrillers (itself a really nice update of the classic adventure story), so maybe I’ll squeeze that in between.

Lots of good books await—see you next time!

Images courtesy of Doubleday Books and Sony Pictures.
Clips courtesy of Trailer Addict.
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On The Bookshelf: "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs"

- Posted by Rusty

What did I read? Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs – Written by Judi Barrett, Illustrated by Ron Barrett

What did I think? I know what you’re thinking: “Really, Rusty? Kids’ books now??”

Very fair questions...but this was just too good to pass up. So, if you guys are with me, let me explain my crazy reasoning behind it...

I saw the movie based on Cloudy last weekend, but, right before it started, they ran that gorgeous preview for Where the Wild Things Are. And that got me thinking—a lot of people I talked to have wonderful memories of reading these two books, even if they don’t remember all the details (my co-worker, in particular, was too adorable when she recounted how much she loved the flying food in Chewandswallow). But I just couldn’t relate to that—unfortunately, I was never driven to pick up either of them. Not that I stayed away from kids’ books—I grew up on Russian fairy tales, like the evil, forest-dwelling Baba Yaga, and I learned English through Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl (especially Matilda and James and the Giant Peach) and the pretty-bad-but-incredibly-addicting Goosebumps. Once that phase was over, though, I read books every now and then, but I didn’t really embrace reading until high school—by that point, I missed out on these must-read classics, thinking myself “too grown-up”, or just plain not-interested to give them a quick read.

But, as I saw over the last few weeks, I was missing this experience—the chance to see a years-old American favorite transformed to the big screen, to get all lost in cozy memories, and geek out over beloved books you haven’t talked about in years. Of course, I can’t recreate that, but I can certainly give the original book a shot. Cloudy, in particular, looks like the kind of warm-hearted, joyful fun you’re supposed to love as a kid…so, well, I just couldn’t resist. I went straight to Borders after work, asked for the picture books section (and maybe mumbled something about it being “for my niece”…who’s, ahem, 3 months old), and came home, ready to read both classics in one fell swoop (although I’ll tackle Where the Wild Things Are in a later column—its fascinating ideas about growing up deserve a section of their own).

Even better, it’s interesting to experience these types of books as an adult. For those who know me, I’m pretty much a big kid at heart (if that—most people probably don’t even add the “at heart” part), and I have an innate love for children’s stories, especially if they’re done well, with real heart and imagination. Moreover, I always believed that good stories for children, the true kid-lit classics, have much more to offer than just pretty pictures and exciting plotlines. If you look carefully, you’ll often find some truly great, thought-provoking ideas, and powerful messages to add to the fancy events on display. True, many times, the stuff we loved as kids (I’m looking at you, Goosebumps!) doesn’t stand the test of time, remaining more as passing entertainment than something that actually touches you. But other stories are something really special—the kind of books that adults can’t wait to read to their own kids—stories that, no matter how crazy (like Alice in Wonderland), end up being all-ages pleasures (much like good family films, something Pixar excels in).

Well, I couldn’t be happier that Cloudy lives up to all that—it’s just a wonderful all-around story, with beautiful, very witty illustrations, a wickedly clever concept, and a warm, strong focus on family at its center.

For those who don’t know, or want a quick refresher course, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, written by Judi Barrett and illustrated by Ron Barrett, takes place on a winter day at home, with a grandfather telling his kids the bedtime story of the town of Chewandswallow. A tiny island in some far corner of the sea, Chewandswallow is remarkable for one specific reason: its weather. It never rains, nor snows, nor blows anything “normal” from the clouds in the sky—instead, the weather only produces food. That’s right, three times every day, the sky would churn out different meals, whether it’s raining pancakes, syrup, and orange juice in the morning, or hurling down steaks for dinner. No one ever goes hungry in Chewandswallow, and people always walk around with cutlery in pocket, ready to chew themselves silly at a moment’s notice! But then…the food starts getting bigger and bigger—suddenly, meatballs for dinner doesn’t sound as enticing, especially if said meatballs are a hundred times normal size, and crash through and bludgeon down every rooftop in town. Even worse are those pea soup fogs—when you can’t see anything but green all around you…not to mention those pesky flying peas…and tomato tornados…and pasta avalanches…well, you get the idea.

Like it sounds, the premise is just a great deal of fun—full of inventiveness and great visual moments…even for me, and I’m probably far from the target audience. Best of all, if you’re a kid or just a fan of good artwork, the drawings are lovely—they’re sprawling, colorful bits of imagination, relishing every bit of food falling from the sky. There’s also a great witty energy to them: take for instance the memorable image of a giant pancake flattening a school (it’s in the movie as well, and you can catch it in the trailer)—the details are fantastic, but next to all the shocked people and helicopters desperately trying to lift the pancake, there’s a little boy running on the side, tearing up his schoolbooks, and running in joy. I love that, and that would have spoken directly to me when I was 9 years old, when I kept wishing for LA to have some funky weather, just so school would finally be cancelled. Forget possible damage to the buildings—as long as I got to stay home, play hooky, and hopefully watch Saved by the Bell reruns (or Ducktales!), all was good.

Judi and Ron Barrett seem to really understand kids too—after all, isn’t that a very childlike idea, to have all your favorite things whenever you want it? To have a place so cool and unique that it’ll just rain down whatever you like, three times every day…forever? I think it taps into that—that hidden dream to enjoy every last morsel of something that you love…something we definitely have as kids, but slowly lose (for good reason) as adults. When I was growing up, my mom used to make this amazing dish—it was fresh strawberries, mixed with tons of sugar, and all topped off with whipped sour cream. It literally was the most delicious thing in the world, and I remember thinking that I could eat this every day for the rest of my life—it was that good—who needs all that vegetables and meat when you have something so mouth-wateringly fantastic at your disposal? But, of course, I would have hated eating it by Day 2…and then hated the dish in whole…and probably my mom for making me eat it. I think, as kids, we don’t realize that sometimes there can be too much of a good thing…at least not yet. Things don’t usually work in extremes, but we don’t see that until much later—as a kid, when you’re full of energy and imagination, anything seems possible, and those impossible things are way too tempting to dismiss. Cloudy works off of that idea—Chewandswallow falls apart precisely because of what makes it so awesome to kids. As a wish-fulfillment place, it shows you the dangers of having everything you could want…and, really, what kid would want to spend their days avoiding deadly, flying, giant meatballs…let alone suffer stomach aches from having to eat all the moldy bread off the bread-blocked streets? It’s an important lesson, but it's delivered with subtlety and plenty of good-natured humor.

Finally, one of my favorite things about the book was its element of family and story-telling. The entire book is centered on one grandfather’s story, supposedly from his own experiences; his grandchildren are totally skeptical at first, but, of course, get lost in the story before they know it. And that rings very true to me—stories are the best way to bring people closer together, whether it’s in a friendly or family setting—I think we bond by sharing our experiences, or just sharing silly, ridiculous, too-cool-to-be-true flights of fancy, like a food-raining town. Also, from a personal perspective, my grandpa was the greatest person I ever knew…and he was just born to tell stories. He had that voice, so full of warmth, humor, and wisdom, and every story he told was something special, be it from his own life or some Russian tale he was saving to mess with me and my sister. The relationship in this book, between the grandfather and the kids, captured that bit of story-telling magic that my grandpa perfected. It was charmingly done, and, really, it shows that you don’t need fancy things, like televisions, video games, etc, to keep people together—all you need is a good, loving audience, and the wonders of the imagination. A beautiful message indeed.

In the end, it’s no coincidence that the kids bond with their grandfather over a lively fairy tale—that’s exactly what a good children’s book could do. A good story is the bridge between any age, and Cloudy in whole is the perfect example of that.

Would I recommend it? As strange as this will sound… definitely “yes”. If you have an eight-year old relative or acquaintance, this is mandatory reading. But, then again, if you’re proudly weird like me, I’d recommend giving this a read (and, come on, it’ll take you like 10 minutes tops—no one will ever have to know…). If you read it as a kid, it will be a welcome bit of nostalgia; if you never read it before, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the sheer joy and creativity on display.

Would it make a good movie? Absolutely—that colorful world of Chewandswallow is begging to be a family movie! But, like pretty much every classic children’s book, there’s one big caveat: it’s a tiny story. At 30 pages, it might be long for children, but it’s not nearly enough to sustain a 90-minute film (this is where a lot of kid lit adaptations stumble, notably the Dr. Seuss ones). Plus, minus the grandpa and the kids, there aren’t really any fully-developed characters—at least, the characters that we have don’t really go through a journey, they don’t change in any way—they just listen to a very cool story, and for the purposes of the book, that’s perfectly fine. Thus, it will be up to the filmmakers to flesh out the world—we have the town, the crazy weather, and the fact that the falling food starts to mutate—all great elements for the filmmakers to play with, and a loose blueprint for what the final product could be. With that, the challenge lies in developing a story around those pieces, finding characters that will take us through this world, and all the while maintaining the fun and very clever spirit of the book.

Is it a movie? Yep, and a very successful one at that (it’s been #1 at the box-office two weeks in a row). Ace already reviewed the movie for you guys—he was very lukewarm to it, and that’s cool—everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, and the movie just didn’t work for him.

Me, on the other hand? I loved it—outside of the first two Shreks and the Pixar movies, I think this is one of the strongest animated films out there.

The film opens up with a fancy credit: “A Film by…a lot of people.” And that’s all we get—with nothing else to distract us, we plunge straight into the story, all about young Flint Lockwood (very well voiced by Bill Hader), and how he dreamed to invent something to give his poor, sardine-saturated town some great food. From the outset, it’s clear that the filmmakers love the source material, and that shines brightly through the rest of the film, following Flint and his genius machine that gets the sky to produce food…and the dastardly town mayor (Bruce Campbell) who tries to abuse it.

Like I said before, the filmmakers did exactly what they had to—not stretch out the minuscule story into 80 padded minutes, but rather build and expand upon the original ideas. Pretty much everything is new—the town’s crazy weather gets an origin, the plot’s extended to include the evil (but very clueless) mayor, and the whole story is brimming with well-developed characters, including Flint, his sardine-shop father, and his love interest, a perky weather girl played by one of my biggest crushes, Anna Faris (in a very shrewd bit of casting—I won’t spoil anything, but for a smart girl who plays ditzy better than anyone, this role’s especially fun knowing it’s her behind the microphone). Like Ace said in his review, fans of the book still get the iconic moments, like the pancake flattening the school and the giant jell-o castle, but now they feel like natural parts of this new narrative, and not random leftovers to please fans of the book.

Most importantly, like the best adaptations, the movie stays true to the spirit of the book. The focus on family is maintained, through the sweet (and strained) relationship between Flint and his man-of-very, very-few-words father (a well-cast James Caan). And, of course, the fun and inventiveness of the original concept is still here, now personified by Flint Lockwood, the much too earnest inventor with big dreams for Chewandswallow. The animation is also a bit off-center—these characters don’t look realistic, but they all have quirky, cartoony features, like giant eyes or (in the case of Flint’s dad) hilariously bushy, obstructing eyebrows. As such, the whole look to the film preserves the tone and visual playfulness of the original story, while the food-attack scenes rank among the best animated sequences in recent times.

Mostly, though, it’s just really funny. I won’t waste your time here with a full review, but this is one of the most purely entertaining movies I’ve seen in a while, perfectly capturing the humor of the book and its illustrations. It doesn’t reach the heights of Pixar, but it’s not really aiming there—you could tell the writer/director combo of Phil Lord and Chris Miller (both from the TV show, How I Met Your Mother) just wanted to honor the original book, and deliver us some smart family entertainment in the process.

There are a few problems (mostly having to do with Andy Samberg’s character, an ex sardine-can poster boy, who really doesn’t amount to much), but I could easily overlook them because I was having such a good time…especially with the scene-stealing voice work of Mr. T!

So, all in all, I made two great discoveries: an animated film to add to my Favorites collection, and a wonderful book for children (one that will probably be just as enjoyable for the adults who’ll read with them). Now I finally get the big smiles that appear when people think back to Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. It’s a deserving classic, and I think the book, along with the movie, will continue to enchant readers for many years to come.

And here are some fun facts before we go…

Fun Fact 1: The filmmakers said they tried to make the film work like an affectionate parody of big-time, expensive disaster movies, like Armageddon, Twister, and (one of my favorite stupid movies) The Day After Tomorrow…just with food. I love that idea, and if you watch the movie, you can see the elements of those disaster spectacles—ominous clouds, Michael Bay-style meteor attacks (but actually giant meatballs), and the ragtag group of everyday heroes who must save the day. Once again, just another fun bit the movie has to offer.


Fun Fact 2: This is a really good time for films based on kids’ books. In a few weeks, we’re getting Where the Wild Things Are, by Being John Malkovich director Spike Jonze. Later, we’ll get The Fantastic Mr. Fox, based on Roald Dahls’ book, and brought to life in stop-motion style (like The Nightmare Before Christmas) by Wes Anderson (The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore). And, of course, in March of 2010, Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland hits theaters in all of its mad visual glory. I’m really excited for all of these—like the clever Cloudy, these don't look like cookie-cutter, bland family films, but rather original visions from interesting filmmakers, all of whom actually want to breathe life, magic, and intelligence into these beloved stories. Now can someone maybe make a Golden Compass sequel? Ah, I can only hope...

Images courtesy of Atheneum Books, Sony Pictures Animation, and Columbia Pictures.
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On The Bookshelf: "Pygmalion"

- Posted by Rusty

What did I read? “Pygmalion” by George Bernard Shaw


What did I think? This book came about for me in a quirky set of circumstances—of all things, it was the result of a fun deal with my dad. George Bernard Shaw is his favorite playwright (minus that Russian genius, Anton Chekhov), and for years, amidst other books and many Harry Potter re-readings, he’s been nudging me to give him a try.

And so, we reached an agreement: I’d (finally) check out “Pygmalion,” and he’d give a shot to one of my favorites, Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” As it stands…ahem, I’m done with my end of the deal…looks like my dad has some serious catching up to do…

Well, I won’t begrudge him too much for that, since “Pygmalion” was such a treat to read, and I'm glad I finally gave it a shot.

I don’t know about you guys, but I knew this story best as the inspiration for “My Fair Lady,” that ageless musical and pretty great movie starring Audrey Hepburn (which I’ll get to some more in a bit). Basic plot: the proud, super-knowledgeable Henry Higgins, a master linguist in early 1900s England, takes a bet that he can transform a Cockney flower girl, Eliza Doolittle (with her most articulate phrase being “I’m a good girl, I am”), into a duchess. Simple as that—it’s a funny set-up, and it’s a consistently funny play, from the endless bits of quotable dialogue to just the little comic details along the way. My personal favorite: Shaw has a lot of fun with Eliza’s wailing noise right before she learns to speak properly—pretty much a combination of every possible vowel, like “A-ee-ooo-au,” done to maximum annoying effect for poor Henry Higgins.

“Delightful” is really the best word to describe the play in whole. It’s briskly paced and the jokes hit their targets, with most (if not all) of the humor coming straight from the characters and their often ridiculous actions. Shaw’s light sarcasm narrates the whole ordeal (he might be the first playwright I’ve ever seen with witty stage directions), and that light touch just makes the whole thing more enjoyable—it’s really quite infections. There’s one particular sequence, where Eliza mastered how to speak properly, so Higgins sent her “into society,” and there she eloquently discussed how someone “did her aunt in”—all the guests were there to politely socialize and drink tea, while Eliza enthusiastically described how her aunt was killed with a pillow (Higgins desperately called that story the “new small talk”). Shaw has a real eye for this—the comedy that comes from mixing great characters together—setting them up in absurd situations and just watching the laughs flow naturally from the scene.

There’s plenty of great stuff to dig into too. By all means, look at that title—a reference to the classic legend of Pygmalion, Ovid’s sculptor who created Galatea, a statue of a beautiful woman so life-like, that he instantly fell in love with it. Venus then granted the sculptor’s wish, turned that statue to life, and he married and lived the rest of his life with the object of his own creation. A fun parallel, right? More so, I like the idea it brings up about the things we create—especially in art, where authors’ characters and stories seem to take a life of their own, meaning so many things to so many different people that they can’t possibly be thought of as mere words on a page.

And look at those names. Henry Higgins: it just sounds like perfect construction—a sturdy, reliable, respectable name—an ideal mix of consonants and vowels, perfectly befitting a man who’s spent his life devoted to order, reason and the perfection of sounds (with little—if any—need for that ridiculous, full-of-trivial-emotions thing called “love”). And Doolittle? That’s almost too easy for Eliza’s father, the garbage man who would make his own name proud. But it’s a deceptive tease for Eliza herself; we first meet her as an annoying street urchin, but there’s always more to her, as Higgins himself learns…and so do we as an audience. After all, it was Eliza’s own wish to learn to speak properly—she came to Higgins, she had the dreams and ambitions…while Higgins, somewhat-deluded and pompously charming, just made it happen. “Doolittle” was her past, but she’s quite possibly the strongest and most assertive character in the play, and Shaw, that crafty genius, played with our expectations and gut-reactions with as simple a thing as a name. (I’m actually reading another Shaw play right now, and the names there play an even bigger role).

What really surprised me, though, was that, for a pretty famous romance, the central love story didn’t really kick in until near the end (if that). There are definitely some sparks between Eliza and Higgins, but Shaw doesn’t indulge that until the very last act…and it all ends with an ambiguous, very sneaky note. For those unfamiliar with the story (or the movie and musical based on it), that might be kind of unexpected—we like these two people butting heads, and it was surprising to see all of that put out into the open so late in the game. But it works, and quite well and that. Shaw doesn’t give us easy resolutions—in fact, the last line could mean a million things, depending on your own interpretation. And I like that—I greatly respect an author confident enough to let his audience make the conclusions that seem right to them. I know the ending that I wanted, and the last line could very well mean that.

But, on that note, here’s something I found totally fascinating. The version of the play I read was Shaw’s original submission; however, theater audiences complained of the ambiguity at the end, so Shaw revised the final few lines, and added a lengthy prose-narrative “epilogue” to published versions of the play (included in my version as well). I won’t give away exactly what happens (for there are multiple characters involved that I haven’t mentioned), but it all hinges on Shaw’s interpretation of the very origin of the play: the story of Pygmalion. He poses the question: could Galatea, the statue that comes to life, ever love her own creator like an equal, and not as a god or any greater being? If she can’t, then that’s a love that will never work, for it will be more devotion and reverence than an actual relationship. I think that’s very true to life, a pointed observation that goes far beyond a pretty fairy tale. Shaw falls on one side of that, and I loved his reasoning.

My take? Yes, Higgins “creates” Lady Eliza, the gorgeous, well-spoken duchess, transformed from the rowdy flower girl a few scenes before. But, from the way I saw it, he never creates her personality—all he did was change the packaging, and Eliza remained exactly who she was before—the headstrong girl who dared to dispute the great Henry Higgins. And that’s how it felt to me—that emotion-less, logic-obsessed Dr. Henry Higgins doesn’t come out with a successful experiment…but he actually meets his own match. That master of language, for the first time since his own mother (which has fun implications of its own), meets the only other woman who could, effectively speaking, shut him up; the man who never stops talking finally encounters the person who could make him listen—a very sweet notion. It’s a meeting of minds—two opinionated equals playing on the same field (if from opposite perspectives). They challenge each other, bringing out their best features in the process (for Henry, the heart—that actual feeling-mechanism—nuzzled up deep beneath his academia, and for Eliza, her untapped potential to be something great), and that’s exactly why I think that relationship could work.

It’s a cool bit of irony that I got into this book with “Pride & Prejudice” involved. You might not agree with this comparison, but Mr. Darcy and Lizzy Bennet are quite similar to Higgins and Eliza. Both are matches that seem ill-fitting at first (with obvious class differences in both…not to mention mutual loathing and fighting), but the more you see them interact, that’s when it hits you that these are people that could be something wonderful together—a true partnership in every sense of the word.

Would I recommend it? Easily. It’s a lightning-quick read, and purely enjoyable the whole way through. Give it a read—I can’t see anyone being disappointed by it, and you’ll be smitten with all the characters and sharp dialogue before you know it.

Would it make a good movie? Absolutely—the play, with its endless wit and loveable players, is just begging to be a big screen comedy. Even better, the pacing never stalls—the action just keeps moving, right up until the final conversation set piece. A lot of plays are difficult to adapt since they’re catered for the stage, meant for that particular experience (and we’ve all seen movies from plays that are sluggish and incredibly boring). But “Pygmalion” zips right along—it should be great in action regardless of the medium. Actually, the pacing might be a bit too brisk for a feature film. It doesn’t take long to read it, and, even when it’s staged, I can’t imagine it stretching past an hour (an hour and a half, maybe, but only with some extended set pieces). So, the filmmakers might need to flesh out certain scenes and plotlines—take Shaw’s play as the blueprint, and just add what feels thematically right. The most notable example is Eliza’s training—Shaw skips over it entirely, just leaving it implied, and tempting the audience to imagine the ridiculousness that went through. It’s a great choice as written, but there’s definitely potential for added comedy there.

Is it a Movie? This is the easiest question of all—“Pygmalion” has a rich history of adaptations. First off, we have the 1938 version, co-written by Shaw himself. The script won Shaw an Oscar (a nice companion to his Nobel prize), and it apparently features an alternate ending from the play’s more ambiguous one. There were roughly 10 more straight-up adaptations throughout the years (most of them TV movies), and you could hardly blame them—the play is too irresistible for every generation to not have their own version.

However, the most famous version of this story came with writer Alan Jay Lerner’s and composer Frederick Lowe’s musical version, “My Fair Lady”. In my mind—it’s just the perfect adaptation—it retains most of Shaw’s original play (if not all of it, minus a few dialogue and scene tweaks), but expands the characters and the story with wonderful additions. There’s a more elaborate relationship between Henry Higgins and his mother, more comedy from Eliza’s first entrance into “society” at a ball, a fleshed-out version of Freddy, Eliza’s young suitor, and to satisfy mushy idiots like me, we get to really see the relationship blossom between Eliza and Higgins. We also get a slightly altered ending—it’s still ambiguous like the play’s, but with a happier suggested direction (and a genius new final line). Oh, and the songs are quite brilliant…and catchy as hell. The play also launched the career of a young Julie Andrews, who, even on the CD, sounds perfect for Eliza.


The musical became the most successful at that time, and, inevitably, gave us the lavish 1964 Hollywood adaptation, starring Rex Harrison and the forever-lovely Audrey Hepburn (a true screen angel if there ever was one). Andrews was unfortunately passed up because she wasn’t a “big enough star,” but the studio got their comeuppance when “My Fair Lady” swept the Academy Awards…in everything but Best Actress, which went to Andrews for “Mary Poppins.” (Nicely done, Oscars). But still, minus the fact that the studio wouldn’t use Hepburn’s own singing voice, and that the pacing strangely lags in some of the musical numbers, it’s a deserving classic—Hepburn was lovely, like always (even if she was a bit old for the part), Harrison deserved his Oscar for Henry Higgins, and the songs and script are as great as expected.


Which, in a very cool bit of news to me, brings us to today. It’s far from a done deal, but a remake of “My Fair Lady” is now in the works. Normally, I’d be completely against this. On a simple level alone, how could anyone replace Audrey Hepburn? That poor person who has to endure the comparison… And what about Rex Harrison, who owns the part of Henry Higgins? However, I was lucky to catch the actual musical on stage in London…and it was absolutely amazing—far more than I ever expected it to be. I loved the movie at the time, but the musical only showcased what the film completely missed. That vibrant, seemingly endless energy, the dazzle and spark to the musical numbers—all of that was muted in the 1964 film. Knowing that, if a new film can recapture the magic of the live stage show, bring us new actors to give some snap to Shaw’s lively dialogue, we could be in for something very good.

And, in my eyes, it only gets better. The script for the remake was written by none other than Emma Thompson. An amazing actress already (see: "Love Actually", "The Remains of the Day", "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban", and many more), she won an Oscar for her “Sense and Sensibility” script (something I’m watching as soon as I finish the book, currently on my table book pile, taunting me with all the other ones), and she did an uncredited rewrite for the Keira Knightley “Pride & Prejudice”. If anyone can do justice to Shaw’s humor and original play (even in musical form), it would be her.

As for Eliza, one of my favorite actresses (and Lizzy Bennet herself), Keira Knightley, is attached to don the Cockney accent and belt out the memorable tunes. I mentioned before how no one could replace Audrey Hepburn, but Knightley, at just 24 (a tiny bit older than me!), possesses some of Hepburn’s grace and infinite charm (it helps that they look somewhat similar too—both slender, adorable, and with beautiful eyes and Egyptian-queen-like necks). It might be overhyped to call her our generation’s Hepburn, but she’s certainly on her way.

Moreover, look at her film choices—they show a mature, serious actress, and not someone trying to be a Hollywood star or box-office queen. They may not all be great (or successful) movies, but “The Jacket,” “Atonement,” “The Edge of Love,” "The Duchess", etc—all of them represent interesting ideas and directions, and I’m continually impressed that she’s staying away from high-concept comedies and big-budget star vehicles (the “Pirates” movies aside). She’s already an Oscar nominee, but I predict many more to come, and I think she’ll be wonderful as a more age-appropriate Eliza Doolittle, who's supposed to be in her early twenties (and it looks like she could sing too—check out a quick scene below from "The Edge of Love" as her mini-singing test!).

The remake’s quite a ways from a reality at this point (I’m predicting we’ll see it in a few years from now), but I love the team they’re putting together. If they get a strong director to steer the project (like the rumored Danny Boyle, of “28 Days Later” and “Trainspotting” fame…and the far-from-perfect, but Oscar-winning “Slumdog Millionaire”), and a game cast, we might just have another beloved, Oscar-winning musical on our hands (and a better one than “Chicago,” which I still kind of liked). Plus, how great is it to think of possible Henry Higgins-es. Hmm…Clive Owen, perhaps, in a break from brooding badasses? Alan Rickman (just imagine him reciting Shaw’s dialogue)? Hugh Jackman (who could do a British accent and a killer musical number)? Hugh Grant??

I wish I could include a trailer or any pictures from the remake, but I will as soon it goes into production (fingers crossed). Instead, here’s a wonderful scene from the 1964 movie, with my favorite song from the movie to boot. Enjoy!

And, like last time, here are some fun facts:

Fun Fact 1: I just learned this, but apparently Rex Harrison’s singing style for Higgins was so unique, he just couldn’t be replaced (which the studio was also thinking about—they just never learn, do they?). Lerner and Lowe wrote the part of Higgins to not so much sing the songs, but speak them in pitch and rhythm, something Harrison mastered like few others. I never really noticed it, but it’s undeniable…and it makes sense for a man like Higgins, who, even in a musical, would rather die before he has to open his heart and sing about his feelings (you can just imagine his disgust!).

Fun Fact 2: “Pygmalion” was the clear inspiration for the Freddy Prinze Jr. teen comedy, “She’s All That,” where his popular athlete character bets his buddy that he could turn Rachel Leigh Cook’s weird, messy, klutzy art student into Prom Queen. Think he might just see the beautiful person underneath that dorky shell?

Also, if you think about it, same goes for “Drive Me Crazy,” with the genders reversed—there, Melissa Joan Hart’s popular girl tries to convert Adrian Grenier’s troublemaker (“Entourage’s” future Vinny Chase—you go, Aquaman!) into a believable fake-boyfriend for her. These movies aren’t terrible, and they’re both pretty fun at times…but neither approaches the brilliance of my teen/literary-classic favorite, “Clueless,” the awesome update of Jane Austen’s “Emma.”

— On a quick end note, let me just add that I'm really liking these columns—they take slightly a while to prepare, but it’s a lot of fun to share with you guys whatever it is that I’m reading. Hopefully, you guys like them too—if you read “Pygmalion” or “Dorian Gray,” or if you’d just like me to focus less/more on certain things, please comment away below. I should be back with another one of these in about 2 weeks (or hopefully less) with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s adventure classic and dinosaur-extravaganza, "The Lost World.”

Images and clips courtesy of Barnes & Noble Books, BBC Films, Focus Features, MGM, mlahanas.de, preraphaelites.org, Universal Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures, and Working Title Films.
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On The Bookshelf: "The Picture of Dorian Gray"

- Posted by Rusty
I've been wanting to launch this column for a while now. From the beginning, I didn’t want this to turn into a just “movie” blog—which, I know, sounds ridiculous since I’m crazy about movies (with pages and pages of written geekiness to prove it). Yeah, I will always be the dude who’ll prefer a good movie with some good friends over any party, but my love of a terrific story would be much too limited if I just stuck to the screen. And here's a terribly embarrassing example to prove that: do you guys remember that movie (and wonderful children's book), “The Pagemaster?” Where Macaulay Culkin gets animated and travels to the World of Books, with his talking-novel pals, Adventure, Horror, and the sassy, Whoopi-Goldberg-voiced Fairy Tale? It doesn’t hold up extremely well, but, if you guys will forgive a quick jump to uber-cheesiness, that’s pretty much how I look at books and reading now. Every new story could be some new adventure, and there are infinite worlds, people, and events just waiting to be pored over and explored (which also explains my massively increasing books-to-read pile).

I actually embraced reading pretty late in the game, around late Junior High probably, but it’s a huge part of me now (and I can thank a certain boy wizard for that welcome change). And that kind of became my idea for “On the Bookshelf.” These columns will give you glimpses into what we’re reading, how we liked it, if we’d recommend it, and whether or not that book could (or already does) make a decent movie. Hopefully, we can do one of these every two weeks or so, tossing out some potentially good book recommendations along the way. And, so, let’s open this up with the great Oscar Wilde.

What did I read? “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde.


What did I think? I originally bought this book in, well, 7th grade, convinced that I was a “mature” enough reader to give it a shot. Well, it only took me 9 years to figure out how extremely stupid I was back then. On the flipside, I'm glad I waited until now - it would have been too dense and complicated for me back then, and while I didn't think it was perfect and have mixed feelings about the novel, I greatly enjoyed this rather dark trip into Wilde's imagination.

I haven’t actually read too much Wilde (something that must be remedied very soon!), but I loved “The Importance of Being Earnest” when I read it in college, especially Wilde’s delectable wordplay and wit. He didn’t seem to care so much about plot, but rather how his characters spoke and interacted, how absurd their situations became the more they talked themselves into a hole.

With that, I dug into “Dorian Gray” with tons of enthusiasm—finally, I’d tackle one of Wilde’s most definitive works. I’d get some Gothic imagery, some wicked dialogue, and, really, catch up on a classic I should’ve read years ago.


And then I walked out of it not so much with excitement, but more calm appreciation. In all fairness, this is a good story, with a fantastic premise and, as expected, killer dialogue (really, the entire book could be a massive series of epigrams, all witty bits of truth pronounced by one of the main characters, Lord Henry Wotton). In the novel, the gorgeous young Dorian Gray, after befriending the alluring (and very Wilde-like) Lord Henry, finds himself in the bizarre, supernatural trade-off where a portrait of him ages, while he stays eternally young. But the portrait goes further than simply showing age marks and rotting away with the passing years—for every sin Dorian commits, every crime, particularly as he falls prey to living a life devoted purely to the “senses,” the portrait displays that as well, destroying that beautiful (painted) face of his, and acting as the only semblance of Dorian’s true, corrupt, and deeply hideous nature.

Sounds pretty cool, right? And, by all means, it is—it’s got a phenomenal beginning, in which Dorian is just an innocent, inexperienced young thing, and the transformation that takes place is quite gripping to read. However, I kept getting the feeling that this is an amazing short story that was stretched out to novel length (turns out, I wasn't far off, but more on that later). In fact, there were full chapters devoted to nothing but Dorian’s extravagance—intriguing, sure, but I’m not convinced that they were entirely necessary. I adore supporting details, when an author is free to flesh out his world and his characters, but “Dorian Gray” had far too many instances when the story halted, just so Wilde could (quite nicely, to be fair) add some lengthy, wordy flourishes.

Still, as I said, the set-up is brilliant, Dorian’s journey is very well-plotted, and the ending is pitch-perfect—a superb, twisted image to end a pretty imaginative morality tale. There are great running themes in this, including the more overt ones like society’s obsessions with youth and beauty over things of actual substance (something we could especially relate to in today’s media-saturated world) to more nuanced explorations of art and its power. I genuinely believe that a great story, a lovely piece of music, an amazing painting - they all have the power to change someone’s life — to make them better, more genuine, knowledgeable people. Then again, it's all about how you interpret each work of art, what you as an individual take away from the entire reading (or watching, listening, etc) experience. I won’t spoil too much, but “Dorian Gray” plays with this notion in very interesting ways — Dorian’s failure to properly read his own (freakishly mutating) portrait, as well as the consequences of that action, are some of the book’s strongest moments.

Despite all fantasy or horror elements, this really is a universally relatable story—a captivating, kind-of-freaky “what if?” scenario to many of our most selfish, hidden desires. It’s never outright moralizing, but the story’s a good warning for absolute excess, especially at the expense of living a full life and making heartfelt connections with others. True, it didn’t blow me away as much as I hoped, but I appreciated the beauty of its telling, even if I thought the story would have a lot more power in a leaner, more direct package. Interestingly enough, “The Picture of Dorian Gray” was originally a short story (with its homosexual undertones-which are still very present-much more pronounced), but Wilde himself expanded it, and toned down the more “inappropriate” subtext. In my view, I don’t think this was for the best, but I’m glad we got a version of this story anyway.

Would I Recommend It? I know, who am I to criticize Oscar Wilde? He's a better writer than I could ever dream of being (his reject stories would be like an aspiration for me!). But, while I’m happy I read this, I think I was a victim of my own expectations. It’s a very well-written story, with many memorable images, and it's just brimming with great ideas you can pick apart…but I honestly expected a little better. I don't mind long stories as long as it feels justified; Wilde's a tremendous writer, but, here, the length felt padded, and it unfortunately distracted from the real emotional pull of the story. So take this as a cautious recommendation—I don’t think anyone will be sorry they read this, but considering how highly this is regarded, you might be a bit underwhelmed too.

Would it Make a Good Movie? This one’s a no-brainer—its ageless hero, those Gothic overtones, the subtle psychological mind-games between Dorian and Lord Henry Wotton, that supernatural tinge to the entire ordeal—it would be fantastic on the big screen! However, and here’s the big caveat: minus a few big set pieces, and taking away all of Wilde’s narration and exploration of Dorian’s corruptible soul, not much actually goes on in the book. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a good number of events taking place, but it couldn’t take up more than an hour of screen time at best. With that, it’ll be up to the filmmakers to fill in the details, perhaps enhance the premise with their own interpretations, or punch up elements of the story that Wilde left on the sidelines.


Is it a Movie? Even better question. Checking IMDb, there were roughly 16 versions of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” made throughout the years, seemingly from every possible movie-making country. I honestly haven’t seen any of them, but I suspect more than one would be worth your time, particularly the 1945 version on the right, co-starring Angela Lansbury.

For a nice surprise, we’re actually in for a new take next year (simply titled “Dorian Gray”), a British production starring Colin Firth (the forever Mr. Darcy), Rebecca Hall (Vicky in Woody Allen’s “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” and Christian Bale’s wife in “The Prestige”), and Ben Barnes (“Narnia’s” Prince Caspian) as Dorian. This version promises to amp up the horror elements of the story, as well as offer a better focus on Dorian’s dwindling humanity and his Faustian-like relationship with Lord Henry. Catch the trailer below...

I might be wrong, but the preview suggests exactly what this story needs—not a slavish adaptation, but an expansion of Wilde’s world and ideas. There’s some new characters added—most notably Rebecca Hall, who I’m going to guess plays Wotton’s daughter—and it looks like the filmmakers want to flesh out Dorian as well, to see the good man struggling with the monster he’s becoming. Very interesting. England’s getting it before us (much like they did with “Hot Fuzz”—lucky Brit bastards!), but we should see this stateside sometime early next year.

And, to close this off, here are some fun facts…

Fun Fact 1: For those who saw “(500) Days of Summer,” this was the book Summer was reading before a major event in the movie.

Fun Fact 2: Dorian Gray was also a member of “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,” the pretty awful Sean Connery movie. After watching that, I’m still trying to figure out if the screenwriters actually read this book before inserting him into the team. This version of Dorian (played by Stuart Townsend) was apparently semi-immortal, and, for an even more interesting detail, he was not allowed to look at his own portrait….OR HE WOULD DIE! (I could see the screenwriter delivering that with enthusiasm, like it’s the most brilliant idea ever—“Don’t you get it?! He’s beautiful and bullet-proof, but he dies when he looks at himself! It’s symbolism!”) Yeah, somehow I doubt they read all of the story…



Plus, judging by that movie, maybe Dorian Gray just shouldn’t be an action hero? The way I pictured him, he’d be a bit like Derek Zoolander in a gun fight—a little too dainty to risk hurting those handsome features against some unknown, unkempt, ugly bad guy.

—Hope you guys enjoyed this. I'll try to have a few more of these ready for you soon (including one for my book right now, the delightful and very funny "Pygmalion"), and the other guys will pitch in with books of their own whenever they can.

Images courtesy of Barnes & Noble Classics, ingilizcenet.com, MGM, Ealing Studios, Fragile Films, Momentum Pictures, and 20th Century Fox.

Trailer courtesy of TrailerAddict.
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