Any film adaptation is automatically a mixed blessing: the chance to see some beloved story translated from a book/comic/radio show/TV show/videogame to the big screen, counterbalanced by the risk that it will get fundamentally ruined in the process. Of these, the trials of moving from books to movies are probably best established—massive plot compression, reduced complexity, characters that don’t “look right,” jettisoning of descriptive language—but comic adaptations are a much newer phenomenon with their own pitfalls. To begin, one might argue that Watchmen is only the second true conversion (what in videogame terms might be called a “total conversion” from mod culture), following Frank Miller’s Sin City, with most other superhero and even explicitly comic book movies often closer to “inspired by” or “featuring characters from” than outright transfers from actual comic runs or specific graphic novels[1]. Even previous efforts to adapt Alan Moore in League Of Extraordinary Gentleman, From Hell, and V for Vendetta, and Watchmen director Zach Snyder’s previous outing with Frank Miller’s 300, diverged quite widely from the source material. By contrast, Sin City was almost a shot-for-shot remake of the Dark Horse series. But even it suffered in the process of combining multiple short story arcs into an attempt to create a coherent longer film, and from the innate limitations of the flat-affect noir patois in which it was composed. Watchmen was conceived first as a 12-part comic run and then collected as a graphic novel, ostensibly providing a more linear narrative to put into a film script. Once the initial jitters that the material would be handled indelicately had passed (Snyder went out of the way to reassure fans), the more apropos question became: does Watchmen even work as a movie? With Snyder’s Watchmen, we have a vastly ambitious attempt to convert what has been called an “unfilmable” work into celluloid. How well viewers think the effort turned out is breaking down along traditional party lines, with mainstream critics bothered by its structure, pulp excesses, and even its slavish devotion to the text (cf. the first two Harry Potter films); and fans thrilled to see familiar scenes brought to life. At the risk of rehashing overchurned ground, I think the movie succeeds and fails precisely by those measures and your ultimate enjoyment will be determined how much you give credence to each. Let’s start with the structure.

Western film is primarily built around the three-act format, and most preceding superhero movies have conformed accordingly. Certainly many other films successfully break out of this, so the fact that Watchmen is not traditionally arranged is not inherently a fault. But while written as a holistic story, the narrative in Watchmen is far from linear. Among its most striking features are the overlapping metastories, like the Tale of the Black Freighter and excerpts from Hollis Mason’s Under the Hood memoirs, which often serve dual purposes via juxtaposed panels in a fashion that is hard to replicate outside the comic book page, let alone achieve even within it (another example might be limited passages in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, such as stories-within-stories told by Cain & Abel). Most of that is stripped away in the movie. (To compensate, both have been produced separately for a DVD release; it will be interesting to see if they’re reintegrated on the eventual Watchmen expanded DVD.) Even so, the Watchmen comics were episodic as well as progressive, and with that carried over to the movie, it certainly helps to know the story already to help follow along with the many historical flashbacks, individual backstories, alternate-historical allusions, and psychological layering that fill around the throughline investigation of the “mask killer” by Rorschach. I can certainly empathize with new viewers becoming somewhat bewildered by the sequencing, such as the origin story for Dr. Manhattan coming quite close to the movie’s conclusion. Yet with my fuzzy recollection of the comic’s order, I mostly found myself curious if I could remember which came next, and Rorschach’s progress was helpful in providing a reference timeline.

The pulp excesses are another element likely to polarize audiences. Moore’s great conceit was to imagine a world where ordinary people became costumed vigilantes (with the notable exception of Dr. Manhattan, who was neither ordinary nor particularly costumed), and the consequences that would follow. What kind of person puts on a mask and goes out at night to fight crime? The first generation are mostly disillusioned law enforcement, but the cadre gradually expands to include the fame-seeker, the psychopath, the fetishist. The following generation, represented by most of the members in the Watchmen, adds to that inheritance (the daughter of the first Silk Spectre is expected to take on her skintight latex mantle); hero worship (the second Nite Owl is an avowed fan of the original, Hollis Mason, and visits him weekly to share stories of the ‘golden age’); and hubris (Ozymandias, who models himself after pharaohs and idolizes Alexander the Great). All of this leads to subverted motives, so when we see the ‘heroes’ in action, the result is often disturbing and extreme. The disillusioned Comedian is a grizzled veteran of wars, grinning around his everpresent cigar as he lays waste to the Viet Cong, then shooting a pregnant lover; who summarily disperses an anti-vigilante mob on the eve of the Keane Act becoming law by attacking protesters and firing into the crowd. Yet perhaps the most wanton violence is by the unlikely duo of washed-up, pudgy Dan Dreiberg and kittenish, moorless Laurie Juspeczyk as they take evident delight in the adrenaline-pumping, sex-charged brutalizing of a gang who follow them into the quintessential dark alley. Limbs snap, faces contort, and the newfound lovers shyly grin at each other as they resume a long-dormant pastime. Their later explicit coupling in the hovering Archie (complete with fetish overtones due to their crusading outfits, a point about marginalized sexuality made more directly in the comics where Dan is almost impotent without his suit, and characters like Hooded Justice and Silhouette are portrayed as closeted homosexuals) is almost redundant, but itself reminiscent of all that comics were feared to portray in the run-up to the Comics Code era: glorified violence, unbridled sexuality, and immoral horrors. By contrast, Rorschach is glibly referred to as a psychopath, yet he gives a very lucid depiction of his descent into violent reprisal while recounting the story of the kidnapped girl to the prison psychologist, and even though he treats suspects and enemies brutally (in some of the movie’s harshest scenes) his motivations are always clear and tied either to his outright survival (the boiling oil, defending himself in the cell) or the pursuit of the “mask killer” (interrogating Moloch and the Pyramid delivery goon). The overall effect of ‘heroes’ in action is one of moral ambiguity, a lurching and uncomfortable turn from the typically clearcut stories of the likes of Superman and Spider-Man, who always have external forces to blame for lapses of behavior (Kryptonite, alien symbiotes). When the Comedian finally breaks down in the bedroom of his former archenemy Moloch at the appalling demands of ‘the list’ that have unhinged even him after years of war and covert action, or when he has a brief moment to dote on his secret daughter before being scolded away by Sally Jupiter, you get a complex portrait of a very flawed but ultimately remorseful man who knows he will die violently, friendless and alone.

At the other extreme from the sordid pulp, we have the philosophical development of the series’ one true ’superhero’ in Dr. Manhattan who is clearly struggling to retain any vestige of humanity as he experiences the dissociation from any of the innate human limits (lifespan, linear time, location, normal senses, being subject to climate) and following his break-up with Laurie loses any tangible connection with human experience. This struggle of the superman among mortals is a compelling theme that has been taken up many times since Watchmen’s publication, including notable examples in the Ultimate universe with the re-imagined Hyperion (an alternate take on Superman); the breakdown of Supershock in Brian Michael Bendis’ series Powers; and even the barely-controlled rage of Mr. Incredible at his insurance job or sitting in traffic in Pixar’s The Incredibles (which, along with Powers, also picked up on the theme of public backlash, and with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it picture of Dollar Bill gunned down when his cape is caught in a revolving door, the earliest example for Edna Mode’s famous exhortation, “No capes!”). The loneliness, isolation, and eventually detachment of a godlike figure among mortals makes for a compelling story on its own, but it suffers from being intermingled with the down-and-dirty lives of his fellow crusaders. And while the flat, dull intonation of much of Dr. Manhattan’s dialogue, combined with its dehumanized syntax as in his final TV interview, clearly are meant to convey the separation from the passions that rule normal human speech, it can come off as simply wooden and unengaging when put to screen. More expansively, precisely because we are meant to see the Doctor as an almost otherworldly and unempathetic character, the only time we can sympathize with his condition is when he is tormented by portions of his past such as his failed relationship with Janey Slater. This makes it ultimately hard to accept his abrupt return to Earth after simply observing Laurie’s discovery of her parentage, and semblance of conscience as he reacts to the human wreckage resulting from Veidt’s plan.

Finally, the question of veracity to the original text. I will certainly admit to being taken in by the naïve form of the argument, “the only way to honor the source material is to translate it exactly;” my evolution on that point has been explored here before. And having moved from that initial simplification, I have to hedge against hypocrisy if I would now find fault for someone doing what I once would have demanded. I do think that Sin City was weaker for being an exact duplicate of the graphic novel, because it offered few of the benefits of the film by going so far to make the visuals match the stark ink portraits of Frank Miller. A clear position on why Watchmen suffers similarly for its exactitude in treating the graphic novel as storyboard is offered by CNN’s Tom Charity, who lauds the innovations brought to the story such as its flashback credit sequence, which ranks with the Alex Ross painted vignettes that retold the whole of the first Spider-Man during the opening to Spider-Man 2, but seems to harbor particular umbrage with the description of Snyder’s work as ‘visionary’:

“Snyder — whose previous films were a remake (“Dawn of the Dead”) and another scrupulously faithful comic book adaptation (“300″) — is more in the line of a fancy photocopier, duplicating other artists’ imagery with a forger’s intensity. A visionary transforms the world. Snyder slavishly transcribes what’s set down 5 inches in front of his face.”

To be fair, that’s precisely what Snyder promised the fans. Where the cracks show is in the slippage between mediums, where comics and film fail when they try to solve the same problems the same way. Modern films have developed a complex visual language for dealing with time-jumping narratives, but still struggle to join parallel stories (split-panels work much better in comic form than split-screens). Pacing between the two formats is very different, and momentum diverted in comics (e.g. devoting an issue to a backstory) is much more detrimental to maintaining interest in film; comics after all often take at least a monthly pause between issues. And Charity is right to pick out that the omnipresent fear of looming nuclear devastation that was commonplace when Watchmen was first published in 1986 requires some translation in a day when biowarfare and terrorism have replaced the Soviets as the doomsday spectre. Yet it’s worth considering a comment made by Snyder (the last in a long line of attached directors) about how the project originally came to him:

“When I got the project, what the studio had in mind was a PG-13, two-hour movie where [the bad guy] gets killed in the end,” says Snyder. “Then it’s sequel-able and you’ve got a ‘Fantastic Four’ franchise called ‘Watchmen.’ “

Just mull over the notion of Watchmen being treated with anything like the calculated disregard heaped upon the stalwart Fantastic Four property (apparently a reboot is already in the works to take advantage of the ‘dark is the new hip’ aesthetic brought about by Nolan’s Batman relaunch). A sequel, even – maybe featuring the child of Nite Owl and Silk Spectre investigating the stories from Rorschach’s journal! Just as I’m willing to accept Count of Monte Cristo with Jacopo recast as comic relief as an acceptable tradeoff to the execrable off-axis indulgence of the Depardieu miniseries, so a faithful retelling with appropriate tweaks can meld the best of both worlds. And credit must be given to the production teams who brought the many sets and costumes off the page in a manner that was both true to the line art and still realistic. Hero costumes in particular require special attention so that the gleeful disregard for gravity, human physiques, and the behavior of textiles often employed by comic artists to make their figures more exciting is translated into believability. The Minutemen-era costumes look suitably homemade and cheaply constructed, especially the ludicrous wings worn by eventual padded-room resident Mothman. The updated costumes of the second Nite Owl and modern Comedian are emblematic of the Batman Begins-style exoskeleton, while the critical inkblot cloth effect of Rorschach’s ‘face’ is immaculately done (go Frank!). Dr. Manhattan is, yes, naked, very blue and glows, but kudos to the effort put into his reconstruction sequence shown in flashback as he regains control over his component molecules and literally pulls himself back together. Only Ozymandias looks like a ponce in his costume, which is perfectly fine with me since that’s still better than he looked in the comic with those metallic gold leggings; he’s sinister only when hooded and disguised during the assassination of the Comedian, with an intensely tight fight choreography that plays on his exotically triangular upper torso. Even the ludicrous purple suit he wears during the meeting with the oil executives is a nice nod to the reigning fashion in 1985 (also check out the Nagel print in the Comedian’s bedroom). My least favorite effect, incidentally, was Tricky Dick’s nose which was frankly distracting and no doubt a nuisance to act behind; unlike Ocean’s Thirteen, the nose does not play. The sets are perhaps most remarkable in how effortlessly they fall into the background; compare with the many look-at-me layouts typically found in comic book movies. The Batcave. The Fortress of Solitude. The Baxter Building. Green Goblin’s lair and military lab. Apart from Ozymandias’ Antarctica fortress, which is really just an amalgam of Egyptian monuments to flatter his ego, and his V-topped office tower that demonstrates his business wealth, Dan has the most elaborate ‘lair’ and it consists of a dank basement entrance to an abandoned train platform. And while some moments dragged and some transitions felt abrupt due to following the comics closely, the payoff was those scenes both major and minor that reminded fans of the highlights from reading. My particular standouts were quick shots of the Bernard and Bernie duo at the newsstand which figure in the Black Freighter storyline, including Bernard embracing Bernie protectfully as the integration field explosion hits them; Rorschach’s brief prison stay; and Nite Owl’s return to action. Extra geek fun was spotting two Eureka regulars playing Moloch and Seymour (the intern at the New Frontiersman at the end).

Which brings us to the controversial changed climax. What, no giant fake space squid? Heresy! Actually, this always struck me as the weakest part of Veidt’s strategem – it made the usual grand conspiracy mistake of overcomplicating the deception, which vastly magnifies the opportunities to uncover it…shame on you, world’s smartest man. The squid required simultaneous belief in massive extraterrestrial cephalopods, hostile intent by an alien race, and indeterminate future attacks in order to rally humanity to a common defense. The discursive turn in the movie to put the blame on Dr. Manhattan – already persona non grata due to the radioactivity cover story – neatly sidesteps most of the belief gap. People were already becoming uneasy at the prospect of a superbeing with near-limitless power; in fact, he was the suggested impetus for the massive Soviet stockpiling of nuclear weapons and the steady progression of the Doomsday clock towards midnight. Essentially the only people not already afraid of Dr. M were Americans, and the cancer scare and his subsequent removal to Mars worked to undermine that. Cue integration field generators in key cities that can duplicate the emissions known to be unique to Dr. Manhattan, and we have a plausible scenario that not only achieves the same end as giant space squid marauders but neatly taps Dr. M as the common enemy, neutralizing him as a threat to the scheme. Which leaves wishy-washy Dan who bows to the inevitable after an ass-kicking, and Rorschach.

Perhaps the best way to summarize the movie is with Rorschach himself. He is brutal but methodical, does what he believes to be necessary and never shrinks from ugly truths. He has faults aplenty, tempered by virtues like loyalty and commitment to justice. And when the greatest practical joke of all has been played on humanity by the smugly sociopathic Veidt, he alone remains devoted to his principles even in the face of the clear utilitarian argument for staying silent. He chooses death over capitulation: “No compromise, even in the face of Armageddon.” This stance has had terrifying consequences when applied to events in our world, simplifying complex situations into black and white and acting without regard for consequences or higher authority (or, ultimately, immanentizing the eschaton). But in the case of Watchmen the movie, which makes no compromise for ratings (moving to R doubtless lowered potential gross earnings), remains loyal to the original work, and commits to the nuanced themes that Moore raised which challenge many of the assumptions in the whole of the genre, we can feel the same guilty admiration as for poor unyielding Walter Kovacs.

[1] Many times comic book movies have drawn from specific issue details, from origin stories to the incorporation of elements from God Loves Man Kills into the second X-Men movie. However, these are usually a pastiche with significant variations from the source material – for example, in X2 William Stryker is a minister with a private religious agenda instead of a military officer working under government authority.

This new Bourne series has always been so far removed from Robert Ludlum’s rather more plodding source material that at least we are saved from another rehash of the book-vs-movie debate. Indeed, practically from the time Bourne steps off the fishing boat in the first movie, we separate paths with only occasional name dropping (Marie, Treadstone) still tying it to its namesake. To their credit, the movies have made the most of this divergence, updating the somewhat hoary spygame mechanics, tightening up the timeframe, and making the main characters more sympathetic. The original Bourne was so chameleonlike as to deflect any easy affinity – for what do we have in common with someone who is always pretending to be someone else, like Christopher Chance in The Human Target? – while Marie was a Canadian doctor of economics who started out a hostage and later provides complex financial assistance. The writers also eliminate the primary throughline of the original trilogy dealing with Carlos the Jackal in favor of turning Treadstone into the enemy instead of ally, followed in time by its paymasters at the CIA. This not only simplifies the goals of Bourne tremendously but makes the struggle to regain his identity, and thereby his moral sense, the primary conflict instead of just an interim step. And so we journey from a numbered bank account in Zurich, to Paris, Berlin, and Moscow before we rejoin a still very battered Bourne in the opening moments of Ultimatum.

We find him literally moments later on the streets of Moscow, after confessing the murder of the Neskis to their daughter at the original ending for The Bourne Supremacy (the flashforward scene between Bourne and Pamela Landy in NYC was added later after test screenings thought the ending in Moscow too much of a downer). And naturally, a chase scene develops. And shortly, another. The manic pace and tension are sustained through this rapid juxtaposition of “how will he get out of this one?” setpieces, in an escalating race against the higher-ups at the CIA and sister agencies who are revealed to have greater things to fear than Bourne himself. And intercut into Bourne’s globetrotting pursuit of clues to his past we also get sinister office politics betwixt an emboldened post-9/11 intelligence bureaucracy – that is, when the warring bosses aren’t doing what they do best, yelling at rooms full of attractive geeks to do impossible things with their computers right now. At least movie bosses have that trait in common with their real-world counterparts.

Alas, some of the investigative onion peeling that has distinguished the series from formula spy action pieces is diminished in this exchange for longer and more elaborate chases. One footchase in Tangiers between Nicky, Bourne, and a CIA ‘asset’/assassin named Desh lacked in variation and lasted well beyond my patience (and this from someone who had no complaints about the highway scene from Matrix Reloaded). Plus, the progress Bourne is able to make occurs as much from luck (a British journalist happens to publish about a source on both him and Operation Blackbriar, with the motivation for disclosure never mentioned; Nicky happens to have been assigned to work with that source, Daniels) than skill on his part. Moreover, although we are still treated to Bourne’s jury-rigging ingenuity (an oscillating fan + flashlight = diversion), the attempt to make Nicky useful introduces some dubious networking insofar as she is simply able to log in remotely to schedule her own meet with Desh…a far cry from the bottom-up detective work Bourne has achieved thus far via payphones and Net cafés. As the series of chases finally leads towards the final showdown with the architect of his reprogramming at the Treadstone training center – conveniently not far away from the main HQ in NYC – it strains credulity that Bourne would respond to Landy’s tip by simply barreling straight into the building with no apparent plan other than to corner anyone conveniently still stationed there to provide crucial exposition. And we have the last clichéd moment on the building’s roof, cornered by a fellow agent who he left to live after a crippling crash who will now suddenly be convinced not to take a shot by the cryptic statements provided by a dangerous target.

These quibbles are to be expected in watching any action movie, and really wouldn’t even had caught my attention had the previous two movies not been so successful in grounding the action and making the characters more three-dimensional and believable than the normal stereotypes cluttering the genre. And watching the movie, I was truly caught up in the thrill of the chase, carried along by the pounding soundtrack again provided by John Powell, up to the expected reprise of Moby’s “Extreme Ways” over the closing credits (tweaked a bit, notably). But afterwards, these flaws as compared to its predecessors, and the higher expectations raised because of them, left me a little disappointed much as I was with Ratatouille. That is, not because the movie wasn’t good, but simply because it wasn’t quite as great as I hoped.

Apart from the plotting, the other main detraction was, ironically, one of the film’s main selling points – the superlative competency Bourne displayed at the train station in dismantling the op being run against his journalist contact. The unerring stage management of complex counterintelligence against multiple enemies seemingly on the fly – with an uncooperative civilian, no less – raises him to a level that we might expect from movies but compromises the illusion in the process. Just as John McClane was established as a force of nature in his fourth movie, Live Free and Die Hard, where even the other characters around him have begun to recognize and comment on his apparent plot karma, in Ultimatum Bourne is increasingly presented as a character that is untrackable, indeed unbeatable, and in so doing some of the tension associated with any predicament he is placed within leaches away. James Bond long ago lost any fear of bullets, or even a sprained ankle, while Bourne has at least suffered the effects of his encounters. But while the first movie first introduced us to his skills as he recovered them, and the second expanded on them as he began to unravel the details of his earliest mission, by the third we have come to expect that he cannot be foiled and thus he begins to turn from character into caricature. The same complaint can be lodged at his inhuman ability to survive multiple car crashes with little more than a limp – again, long a staple of the action hero (at least, compared to Arnold in Commando, he used a seatbelt) but a diminishment of his “great but not super” profile. Only by truly believing a person can fail will we truly thrill at their success.

The hinting at a romance with Nicky, along with the relative paucity of what Bourne is revealed to truly remember – all his missions as Bourne, his training to become Bourne, his life before as David Webb? – leave enough unanswered questions to suggest that the movie is both trying to come full circle and set the stage for future adventures of The Bourne Thingy. Yet this possibility is troubled not only by Matt Damon’s comments on the subject, but by the restoration of Bourne/Webb’s moral sense. He is no longer a programmable weapon, an ‘asset’ of shadowy government forces acting in murky ‘best interests,’ but a person with remorse for past acts of violence and growing aversion to it. He is clearly troubled after his brutal subdual of Desh, and refrains from shooting pursuing agents in car chases in each of the last two movies, just as he told Abbott that he wouldn’t kill “because she [Marie] wouldn’t want me to.” And if he truly has regained his sense of self, or at least those memories that were torturing him in fragments, then we are at a loss at to what his motivations could be in a future installment.

If we follow Manohla Dargis of the LA Times in conceiving the first movie being about identity, and the second about morality, we can approach the third as more a meditation on responsibility. Having already regained his moral compass by the end of Supremacy (notably contrasted with the self-serving actions of Conklin, Abbott, and the Russian oil baron) , with Ultimatum we have a series of characters grappling with the justification for their actions, particularly those within the intelligence community. Bourne himself has already opted out, and only wants to understand what was done to him before disappearing. He talks of seeing the faces of those he has killed, and when he is at last confronted with the truth of his volunteering for the Treadstone program, he must in turn take responsibility for all that came afterward. The film makes several allusions – through repeated flashbacks, and the dossier that Landy skims – that the reprogramming of David Webb to Jason Bourne was not without resistance, and numerous ‘experimental interrogation’ methods are used to subvert him such as sleep deprivation and waterboarding. The apex moment is when Webb must kill a hooded prisoner to commit himself fully to the program, and Dr. Hirsch comments once he does so that “you are no longer David Webb,” suggesting that the reprogramming had not proceeded so far that Bourne would no longer be aware of his prior identity. This leaves Webb/Bourne somewhat more in the gray as to how far he pushed himself vs how much he was manipulated in committing to Treadstone. He volunteered, evidently as an Army Captain, in a valiant effort “to save American lives” at the cost of total obedience, a common predicament of military service. His resistance is lessened to violating basic codes of conduct, such as executing an anonymous person purely at the say-so of an authority figure – a concept seen in indoctrination trials as varied as the Mafia, the Milgram Experiment, and the final step of other military weed-out courses in movies like Shiri and Spartan. After that, even if you were coerced, your guilt will tie you closer to the group, since you can no longer see a way of turning back. If we add in the details suggested in the closing moments of the movie, Bourne-now-Webb will have recalled that he not only underwent this reprogramming, but went on to commit multiple murders, including of American citizens. As contrasted with his initial rejection of this history when he first puzzles out the clues in Identity while reading about the assassination of Mombosi, he has sought out the worst of his actions and does not shy from responsibility for them.

Likewise, we have multiple figures within the CIA who must make their own reassessments of the costs of their choices. Previously we’ve seen Conklin and Danny Tripp murdered out of expediency by Abbott, and Abbott killing himself rather than face the consequences of his financial escapades in the Neski scandal. Deputy Director Vosen and Director Kramer are likewise focused on covering up the extent of their activities under the umbrella of Operation Blackbriar, which like certain provisions familiar to citizens of the US and UK, eliminates the checks and balances of pre-terrorist times and gives startling free reign to shadowy forces without oversight. The notion of a single word uttered into a telephone triggering an alert across the globe, resulting in the unfettered surveillance and eventual assassination of a journalist on British soil by CIA agents is shocking, but given what is already known about Project ECHELON, what has been declassified of the CIA’s more underhanded past initiatives, and what is not known about the extent of current foreign espionage committed ‘in the black’ and in the name of anti-terrorism, this is merely a dark mirror of present times. Vosen and Kramer never shrink from this, indeed Vosen shows no hesitation at marking Nicky for death at the mere suggestion of her being implicated in Bourne’s escape, while Kramer remarks about how they’ve groomed Landy to take the fall should anything untoward come to light.

Nicky and Pamela Landy, however, both display allegiance to more than their own careers. Nicky’s motivations are suggested as more personal in nature – she refers to a possible romance, or at least unrequited interest, between Nicky and Bourne when she acted as his handler before the boat accident. Apart from some extended staring (which sadly seems to be about as much direction as Julia Stiles is given at times), a visual parallel to Marie when she dyes her hair, and a quirky half-smile at the film’s ending, nothing more is made of this. But it could help explain how she would choose when confronted in Daniels’ office to provide the non-duress codeword and thereafter aid Bourne in his search. Landy is a more complex character, devoted to protecting the agency’s interests (such as unraveling the failed Neski op in Supremacy) while remaining open to the prospect of Bourne being innocent. As she observes Vosen’s disregard for CIA personnel, and reads more into the extent of Treadstone’s and Blackbriar’s activities, she begins to act contrary to her own interests in service of an ideal. While everyone else is really out for themselves, Landy declares “this isn’t what I signed up for” and effectively torpedoes her own career, first by communicating with a targeted free agent (Bourne) and then sending confidential materials outside the agency to implicate Vosen/Kramer. This self-sacrifice is perhaps forestalled by the ensuing scandal and investigation, which brings her to testify before a closed session of Congress, but nevertheless she acts to right injustices at great personal risk. In other words, she takes responsibility for unearthing precisely those things for which, still unbeknowst to her, Vosen/Kramer had intended her to take the fall and thus protect themselves.

A possible fourth installment, troubled as it may be for motivation, is certainly not to be dismissed out of hand. Matt Damon reportedly at first disliked the idea, but has since allowed that, with the right script and Paul Greengrass returning to direct, he would consider another. With Ultimatum putting up the largest August box office opening ever, the studio will probably be on the prowl. And Eric Van Lustbader has already churned out two workmanlike serials to follow Ludlum’s original trilogy, titled The Bourne Legacy and The Bourne Betrayal. Even Denby gets in on the act, offering his own suggested titles, such as “The Bourne Arpeggio, in which Bourne, now a violist, prevents the assassination of a Russian dissenter at the reopening of Alice Tully Hall.” While we wait, some other alternatives:

The nobility of intelligence service being somewhat tarnished by recent biopics like Breach (also starring Chris Cooper) and the exposé of post-Cold War shenanigans in Ronin and Ultimatum, some pro-agency drama is provided in the BBC’s MI-5 aka “Spooks” series. I’ve only just finished the pilot, wherein conflicted lead agent Matthew Macfayden, last seen alongside Keira Knightley as Mr. Darcy, rushes about to track down a pro-life extremist expatriate with a somewhat dodgy Southern accent targeting family planning doctors with IRA-supplied bombs about the country. In keeping with the precinct formula for character angst as well as jargon-filled action, Macfayden also struggles with the nature of being a clandestine agent as he romances a chef under one of his assumed identities and has to deal with a life built on lies, while a fellow agent Zoe struggles with mundane matters like avoiding an amorous landlord. The tradecraft is rather downmarket as you’d expect from a BBC-budgeted production, with thrilling sequences like…trying to lure a cat back in the house before placing bugs in clock radios and a smoke detector. Still, the moral quandaries of life in the secretive world, and realistic depictions of a country even further along the surveillance curve towards the panopticon than our own, all provide for some compelling viewing.

For lighter fare, we have distraction in the form of another agent going through a self-appraisal and turning from spy to do-gooder, this time in the new USA series Burn Notice. Although I initially expected a more gritty setting, something more along the lines of John Doe or The Pretender (both, incidentally, series about supremely talented individuals struggling to discover their identity), I was pleasantly surprised that instead the show is closer in spirit to MacGyver. Like Jason Bourne, Michael Westen is an ex-operative, although unlike MacGyver not by choice. Rather than amnesia, Westen has been struck with a ‘burn notice,’ a trade term for a blacklisting by the intelligence community that prevents him from pursuing his chosen career. For Westen is a freelancer, without a particular stake in his work other than pride and profit. Now stuck in Miami without access to his funds or any outside contacts, and with no details on why or by whom he was burned, he must piece together what happened by guile and the few connections he can still leverage. Angling the show into more sitcom territory, he also happens to be estranged from his family – a chain-smoking, manipulative mother who just wants the illusion of a happy family, and a combative gambling-addicted brother – plus quickly hooks up with an ex-IRA ex-girlfriend (played with great enthusiasm and pluck by “where’s she been?” Gabrielle Anwar) and a retired FBI buddy (played by the one and only Bruce Campbell) who lives on the largesse of a series of divorcee girlfriends. He merits his own surveillance team, initially provided by the FBI. And to top it off, since his accounts are frozen and he can’t leave town, to pay the bills he has to find work in Miami.

Concordantly, the writers have managed to come up with a series of odd jobs based around Westen doing favors for friends, family, and strangers in return for cold cash and a new outlook on the things that matter. Each job inevitably requires that he employ his formidable skills as a freelance espionage agent – concocting elaborate surveillance routines, booby-trapping, con games, and the occasional fisticuffs. And better yet, since he’s no longer on a government expense account, all of these have to be done on a strict budget, which often means a trip to the hardware store and some quality time with a soldering iron. His jury-rigging ingenuity (sound familiar?), combined with a nicely deadpan voiceover imparting lessons from the trade, all in the service of helping those who cannot turn to normal authorities for help are a great throwback to 80’s shows like MacGyver and the A-Team, both of which featured former special-ops doing good deeds with the materials at hand. Many of the problems are more technological than MacGyver’s, which often hinged more on applied science, but the bricolage work ethic is the same. As a further homage, even the ending of the show’s opening theme sounds similar to the ending of the classic MacGyver theme.

Another recurring motif I found intriguing is the repeated use of favors as a sort of barter economy among the main characters. Westen often starts off a job as a favor to a landlord, friend, his family, etc. and then in the course of an episode must seek assistance from a colleague, again often in return for a favor. In the case of his own friends and family, the recompense for these favors is often of a social or emotional nature, e.g. his mother will help him if he will visit his father’s grave, or his ex Fiona requires that they finally have a conversation about their relationship. This is all in keeping with the conceit of a credit-free existence, which also aids in countersurveillance (much as the older John Connor had moved to living “off the grid” as of Terminator 3 to help avoid detection by SkyNet), and evokes comparison to a lesser-known 80’s “helps those in need” loner, Stingray, who each episode would call in a previous favor to help the current victim. In all, Burn Notice has been a pleasant surprise, and a great antidote to the weightier concerns raised by the excesses of surveillance and government intrusion portrayed in Ultimatum.

Books, by and large, don’t make very good movies (how many great film adaptations of novels can you think of that were true to the original that were worth seeing? How many total, utter disappointments can you recall?) Yet people who meet novelists inevitably ask, “anything of yours been made into a movie yet?”

First and foremost, film simply lacks the timeframe to cover all that can fit within the covers of a book, and then must often frame details much differently than on the page to meet differing logistic or narrative demands. Gibson points out in a follow-up that the standard Hollywood script is “120 pages. Lots of white space on those pages.” Even Stardust, a comparatively slim volume with illustrations, weighs in as at least twice that. All of this only serves as preface and reiterates past reviews of adaptations of beloved books.

Stardust the movie, then, accounts for itself rather well. Without dwelling overmuch on its unavoidable failing to uphold to the letter of the novel, it succeeds in conveying the essence of its source material. The script by Jane Goldman redrafts the tale to fit the pace of a film, necessarily contracts and streamlines the plot to fit the time available, and introduces some novelties which could be taken as ‘crowd-pleasing’ in intention. Yet none of this detracts overly from the central relationship of Tristran and Yvaine, which had heretofore been curiously absent from most of the promotion of the movie that had given it more the air of a comical swashbuckler. And it is that relationship, from awkward beginning through incessant bickering to its swelling conclusion, that forms the heart of the novel – being as it is billed “a romance within the realm of Faerie.” Without it, the movie would fall into well-executed but ultimately forgettable territory as just another swords and sorcery quest adventure.

Where I still harbor quibbles is, first, over the inclusion of an ultimately frivolous prologue (even with its portentous voiceover by Sir Ian McKellen) set in a Victorian era observatory; and second, with the evident relocation of the entirety of the world beyond the village of Wall from the realm of Faerie to a more generic fantasy demesnes dominated solely by the kingdom of Stormhold. All fey elements of the ‘other side’ are eliminated, doubtless to meet demands of simplicity and budget, but at the cost of robbing the story of its otherworldliness, the inherent menace common particularly to British portrayals of the wickedness of the Fair Folk, and any adjustments our hero must make in facing those more unlike himself even given his mixed heritage. This is particularly jarring in the casting of Una – her features are relatively broad, her physique rather toned (those arms!) as compared to the slight, angular figure from Vess’ illustrations, while her bearing betrays no royal upbringing even after her unveiling as the lost sister of the warring princes. No denizens of Stormhold betray even so much as a pointed ear, let alone fur or tails, and the costuming falls more firmly in the traditional fantasy trope than the delicate gowns or doublet and hose we might have expected from Vess’ plates. Even the architecture follows this eschewal of faerie influence. One might even go so far as to suggest, groaning, that the only ‘fairy’ in the movie is the re-imagined Captain Shakespeare as vamped up by Robert DeNiro.

That disappointment aside, much of the rest of the casting and their settings holds more true to the vision of the book. Charlie Cox makes an indulgently naive and winning Tristran, even undergoing a true makeover at the hands of Captain Shakespeare as he begins to take up the role of hero. Most critically, Claire Danes retains Yvaine’s temper and resentment at her predicament until her slow change of feelings towards Tristran, and while she is perhaps not an ethereal beauty or particularly otherworldly in her carriage – one could imagine a more exotic-looking actress like Kristin Kreuk for this purpose, albeit at the expense of craft – her grounded attitude can be taken as wisdom long established from observing the affairs of mortals over centuries. I am at least immensely relieved that, as reports suggest, Sarah Michelle Gellar turned down the role to stay close to husband Freddie Prinze Jr, as I simply cannot imagine the chirpy Buffy in the role. Michelle Pfeiffer masterfully inhabits the cold menace and ruthlessness of Lamia while playing up her vanity, while Mark Strong equally radiates danger as the cutthroat Septimus. Sienna Miller appears refreshingly rough as the peasant beauty Victoria, like the young Robin Wright Penn in Princess Bride. Peter O’Toole is both regal and cruelly cynical as the ailing king whose experience in the battle of succession has overseen a high body count among his siblings and offspring. Rupert Everett carries off a suitably pompous and dim Secundus, while I thrilled at being able to recognize Julian Rhind-Tutt behind the ghostly and mangled features of Quartus. And as a curiosity, I also discovered that the brief appearance via flashback of one of Yvaine’s sister stars – the prior victim of Lamia and her own sisters – is played by the daughter of Sting, Coco Sumner. As for settings, we must regrettably make do without the serewood, which Neil described in an interview on NPR’s Talk of the Nation as one of two scenes he regretted being absent from the film, and which was intended to feature the voice of Tori Amos. However, we do get at least a brief visit to the market, the enchanted inn, time aboard the skyship (including a dramatic water landing akin to a giant log flume), and most elaborately – due to serving as the film’s new climax – the home of Lamia in a deep shadowed crevasse.

Yet again, the story – and its resonance to the devoted readers of the novel – only succeeds if it captures the hesitance and slow development of the romance between Tristran and Yvaine. Their first meeting is accelerated in the story by the convenient use of the babylon candle, which also serves its later purpose to enable their escape from the inn (and a replacement serves yet a new purpose at story’s end). The candle also acts as the initial lure for Yvaine to follow Tristran, despite her been chained, back to Wall to be presented as a gift for Victoria’s birthday. Their joint ill-humor at the pairing while prevailing to cross their way back to the gap in the Wall slowly gives way at least to mutual concern, beginning with Tristan’s rush to protect her at her sisters’ urging – although sadly, her subsequent attentions to his burnt hand are absent, and we have only a brief moment referring to it as they sit bound in the skyship’s brig. The first reveal we have of Yvaine’s feelings are when she betrays her origins by shining from emotion, most notably when awkwardly attempting a waltz with Tristran. From there on, the telltale shine gives us a ready measure of her growing attachment to him, from the soft glow as they lay crouched beside the road to the brilliance as he confesses his own love to her. The speech she gives in Ditchwater Sal’s wagon, lovely if a bit overwrought, is really unnecessary from an emotional standpoint, a bit like Peter Parker confessing his secrets to a payphone after being disconnected from MJ – she says what we have already come to know, but the story seems to insist that it be said aloud nonetheless. To amp things up a bit from the book’s original anticlimactic resolution of the Septimus and Lamia subplots, we also get a panicked multi-party rush to intercept her from crossing the Wall in despair upon misinterpreting the innkeeper’s message left by Tristran, plus the obligatory damsel-in-distress scene in the final battle with Lamia. Contrary to the novel’s more bittersweet ending (itself a particularly brave or foolish choice by Neil to keep going well past the normal end of a fairy tale on through to the end of their time together, leaving Yvaine alone in perpetuity like Arwen after the death of Aragorn), the babylon candle again allows them to endure in that fashion most beloved of fairy tales – together, shining in the night sky, living happily ever after.

Though the movie lacks much of the novel’s subtle charm, due to the absence of what for a lack of a better term I would call its Gaimanisms – all those turns of phrase, diversions of plot, nuances of characters, and references to legend and mythopoetic tradition that allow him to impart a story with fairy tale notions while remaining inviolably in his own style – it does preserve the spirit of the story, reformed in film. Even without the furry visitor, the fellowship of the Castle, the fight between lion and unicorn, and all of the other moments that gave the book its quirky identity, the movie retains the awkward sweetness and purity of feeling between its two romantic leads that I was most concerned would be lost in the translation to an action fantasy. And with that alone, even without all of its other entertainments and delights (music pounding, horses racing, swashes buckling), the movie offers enough for me to leave the theater smiling and with a fresh burst of anticipation at re-reading the book yet again, and falling back into its sidereal enchantment.

The movie boils down the story to its core elements, namely the fledgling trials of the Order against a paranoid and stonewalling Ministry of Magic; the reign of terror by a-hemming Umbridge at Hogwarts; and the formation and trial by fire of Dumbledore’s Army. The two major characters introduced, Dolores Umbridge and Luna Lovegood, were both inspired casting (particularly newcomer Evanna Lynch as Luna, after beating out the reported 15,000 who auditioned). It is already hard to imagine someone other than Imelda Staunton playing Umbridge, her steel fist inside a pink doily. Even without her telltale toadiness, since we’ve accepted Hermione without large front teeth and Harry without green eyes, so Umbridge can be unctuous and evil without appearing so. Lynch’s Luna was a greater departure than my imagining from the book, but her sweet serenity and lilting voice convey Luna’s essence well. Harry’s relationship with Sirius is emphasized leading up to the climax at the Department of Mysteries, and his perpetual anger and isolation from the book is toned down, discussed directly with Sirius (“I’m angry, all the time!”) and addressed by Luna (“…you’re much less of a threat”). Even the long-awaited (and now anticlimactic) kiss with Cho is tolerably sweet – first Harry can’t stop talking, then they stand completely apart during the kiss, and the wrap-up in the Common Room with Ron and Hermione is a hoot.

Also notable is its incorporation of book 6 lore, with subtle foreshadowing of Ginny’s feelings for Harry each time you see her react to his infatuation with Cho (after the initial meeting of the DA, before the mistletoe, etc). Also more developed is Ron and Hermione’s relationship with each other, which is more genuinely friendly and teasing rather than each just being friends with Harry. Ron notably tells off Grawp in her defense (and also feigns chivalry after falling to her in a DA duel). Less welcome is the hijacking of Levicorpus from its place in the Half-Blood Prince textbook margins to an apparent replacement for Wingardium Leviosa aka Levitation Charm – we see it used (more or less accurately) in DA training in the Room of Requirement, then aberrantly in Snape’s memory by James, and bizarrely by Luna in the prophecy room to throw a Death Eater out of sight. As for other spells, we also get several appearances of Protego, aka Shield Charm – in place of the Pensieve for Harry to access Snape’s Worst Memory during Occlumency lessons, used by Umbridge to defend against centaur archers, and possibly during the Death Eaters melee. The Patronus forms of the DA shown include a horse for Ginny, rabbit for Luna, Hermione’s otter, and a larger dog (not apparently a Jack Russell terrier) for Ron. Everyone gets to Stupefy, and Neville finally manages Expelliarmus. Ginny’s immensely powerful Reducto curse is given center stage twice, once atomizing their target dummy in DA training and then totally leveling the prophecy room in their running fight with the Death Eaters. We get several mentions of the Cruciatus Curse (Umbridge plans to use it on Harry, Neville and Sirius both mention its use on the Longbottoms) but its only application is by Harry on Bellatrix, which really just serves to knock her down. And rather than falling stupefied through the veil, Sirius gets a proper Avada Kedavra by Bellatrix, perhaps to address widespread speculation that his disappearance did not mean his death.

What does not appear could make for an even longer list, and be cause for much teeth gnashing and disappointment. For example:

• We never even hear St. Mungo’s mentioned, and we only see the Longbottoms in a picture of the original OOTP and Arthur Weasley after he returns to Grimmauld Place following the attack.
• Quidditch is again completely absent, and thus along with it Luna’s lion hat and “Weasley is our King.”
• The new prefects are never mentioned.
• Kreacher appears, but not Mrs. Weasley’s boggart, any of the portraits other than the family tapestry, or the mysterious locket.
• The Department of Mysteries is limited only to the prophecy room and pit with the veil, plus the Wizengamot courtroom, so no room with brains or revolving doors.
• Lily does not appear in Snape’s memory of the Marauders.
• The Quibbler only appears during Luna’s introduction, and Rita Skeeter not at all.
• Firenze does not replace Trelawney.
• The Weasley’s grand exit does not include the swamp, nor their famous adhortation of Peeves (what I thought might have been Peeves in the trailer was their dragon rocket pursuing Umbridge).
• The statues do not come alive during Dumbledore’s fight with Voldemort.

Of these, I was personally hoping for the living statues and the swamp to appear, as both were strong visuals that were still within the narrowed focus of the film. Many of the other exclusions are dealt with via smaller scenes (Neville talks about his parents instead of visiting them, Sirius’ replacing James with Harry is cut down to two lines), consolidating characters (Cho gets the blame for breaking up the DA, albeit under Veritaserum, instead of Marietta), or are in line with past cuts, e.g. Quidditch and the brains would both add considerable CG requirements.

Ultimately, OOTP worked for me more as a movie than any other except Prisoner of Azkaban. It had good (fast but not breakneck like Goblet) pacing, a balanced mix of drama and humor, chances for character development between action pieces, and some real hero moments like the arrival of the Order and particularly Dumbledore at the Ministry. It strongly highlighted themes (e.g. Umbridge’s racial bias, the Ministry’s increasing totalitarianism) that are a little scattered in the book. The Daily Prophet was used to good effect for peripheral insets and quick expositional transitions (although it didn’t follow Azkaban’s example and carry it through the credits). And I found myself wanting to discuss the movie rather than critique it, defend its shortcomings vs lambast them, and move immediately back into the series rather than take a break to regain my passion. Considering they made the shortest movie about the longest (and quite complex) book with a director coming from mostly TV series, it’s a wonder just how good it is.

The path to seeing Pixar’s latest, Ratatouille, was a diversion from the usual process for me. Previously it has gone something like this:

1. Pixar releases a teaser trailer that depicts the general setting (A Bug’s Life pans across leaves, Finding Nemo dives through oceanscapes) and the characters, usually in a situation that will not appear in the film (Monsters Inc introduces a grating Billy Crystal as an easily-offended giant green eyeball stumping for sympathy; The Incredibles features Mr. I dressed for action struggling to fasten his belt for supper). Not hooked, I wonder if this is the one I finally won’t love.
2. Full trailer comes out, giving highlights (typically of the humor) but leaving the story mostly opaque. I figure I will go see it eventually, once the crowds die down, but it still can’t be as good as my favorite, [insert previous Pixar movie]. The humor seems to pin on characters/voices I find a little offputting (Mike Wazowski, Mater, Marlin).
3. I encounter very little other media revealing aspects of the movie other than repeats of the trailer, which is now very familiar.
4. Movie comes out, and I go see it a bit earlier than anticipated.
5. (sigh) I love it. The characters win me over immediately (even the irritating ones become ingratiating), the story whips me around at its whim, and at some point (usually the emotional climax near the end) I get choked up.
6. Possibly I go see it again. Certainly the DVD gets bought immediately on release, a Deluxe Edition if available. The rest of the family is put through viewings.
7. It does pretty well at the box office, so they will probably get to make another one.

So, what was different about Ratatouille?

1. Teaser trailer comes out, establishes the story is set in Paris and features a rat fond of haute cuisine (particularly the cheese course) and his less-discriminating brother Emile. Yet I am already curious and amused.
2. Full trailer comes out, and the overall story arc is suggested (rat dreams of becoming chef, succeeds at said dream because it’s Pixar – how else could it be so?). I am looking forward to the release date and mark it on the schedule.
3. Somehow I find myself running across other promotional media. An interview with Brad Bird on NPR. A comedy routine by Patton Oswalt, the voice of Remy. I also discover the video podcasts released by Pixar and watch the lucky staff prepare (go to Paris! take cooking lessons!).
4. Movie comes out, and I go see it on opening weekend.
5. I still love it. But…while watching I do find myself at times trying too hard to predict the story to match up with what I anticipated, and even thrown a bit that the movie does not even begin in Paris. The ending is a little abrupt and unsatisfying, wrapping up too many threads too quickly.
6. I watch more podcasts. I plan another viewing. Meanwhile the knowledge that the blog is here, waiting for posts, keeps me analyzing my reactions.
7. I start watching box office reports, hoping that the reported difficulties in marketing it (an unusual name, rats, a children’s movie set in Paris about French cooking) do not hinder its widespread viewing. Marketing reportedly hopes for good ‘word of mouth,’ which is akin to saying ‘there’s nothing more we can do but hope for the best.’

So is it worth seeing? Absolutely. Technically, they achieve most everything they attempt, especially the challenge of attractive CG food and the ambience of a working kitchen. Wet skin is still a bit plasticky, but an improvement over The Incredibles (where it was the only real disappointment). Both hair and clothing on the relatively large cast of human characters are well done, and the slight caricature style (e.g. Skinner’s exaggerated facial features) makes them appealing without giving up their base realism – and in the case of Horst, the strong resemblance to Jean-Pierre Jeunet mainstay Dominique Pinon is fitting, since he is practically a caricature himself. Also laudable is the believability of the romantic interplay between Linguini and Colette, even a lengthy kiss, when the close association of human bodies is so easily rendered clumsy.

Yet I am still uncertain whether it will achieve the instant classic status for me that both Monsters Inc and The Incredibles did if only because the ending is a little less satisfactory (compared to Monsters Inc and a small voice saying “Kitty!”, which still gives me chills). What happens to Gusteau’s? Why is La Ratatouille not subject to the same restrictions? Where did the rest of the kitchen staff end up, or even Skinner? What becomes of the relationship between Linguini and Colette in the wake of Remy’s revealing? The voiceover segue from the climax with Anton Ego to the dénouement happens essentially offscreen, so we are given very little to go on. The final scenes are pleasing enough, but the unsettled aspects weigh on it. And yet perhaps that is ultimately just one more compliment to the Pixar crew: that these characters are so sympathetic that we want to know the rest of their stories, not just the tale of Remy in pursuit of an impossible dream.

(Special note: I resisted the obvious pun in the last sentence. You’re welcome.)

Time passed and optimism slowly returned. I have gradually learned to take any book-to-movie adaptation on its merits as a film rather than a film of the book. Previously I had distressed over the 2002 retelling of Count of Monte Cristo, a favorite classic rendered into Hollywood swashbuckler. The first warning was the title treatment, “Alexandre Dumas’ The Count Of Monte Cristo,” where past experience has shown that any movie that includes the original author marks for an ironic diversion from the source material (cf. “Bram Stoker’s Dracula“, “William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet“). I then made the express mistake of re-reading the book shortly before the movie came out, which led to concentrating at the theater only on its divergences: why keep most of the character names intact except change Noirtier to Clarion? Where are Haydée, Maximilien, and Valentine? How can Edmond and Fernand be best friends? All of the character endings are wrong! But given some distance, I grew to appreciate the movie for itself, even the Jacopo humor which had seemed so jarring at first (particularly his lampooning of the entire planned revenge – “Why not just kill them? I’ll do it! I’ll run up to Paris – bam, bam, bam, bam. I’m back before week’s end. We spend the treasure. How is this a bad plan?” – which is priceless).

And that movie hardly stands alone in re-casting the Count. The first rendition I saw, a TV movie with Richard Chamberlain, has the advantage of nostalgia (yay, we get to watch a movie in History class!) but lacks a domestic DVD release and has its own quirks. The worst is certainly the 1998 French mini-series, despite having those twin merits of being natively French and having the time of a mini-series, which is the only realistic way to do even some of the many subplots properly. But nothing about Gerard Depardieu’s portrayal rings true: despite being in prison for 18 years, he remains overweight (such fattening gruel!) and clean-shaven (such kind guards to provide a razor!), and then once he escapes, acts both bumbling and uncertain compared to the Count’s superhuman acumen and steely resolve. Casting Ornella Muti, clearly Italian, as the Marseilles fishwife Mercédès is another curiosity as France surely does not lack for capable and attractive actresses, which the supporting cast amply demonstrates. Adding a pointless romantic subplot, discarding several other key plot elements, and abruptly changing the ending further diminish its appeal. Perversely, its reviews on IMDB generally range from complimentary to hyperbolic (“True to the book!”, “Best version ever!”).

The great surprise, however, is that the most faithful is arguably Gankutsuou (literally “The Ruler of the Cave”), an anime series that transplants the story into a future where Paris is a walled city amidst a wasteland, duels are fought with giant mecha, and fortunes are made by trading with alien cultures. Yet by changing the protagonist from Edmond to Albert de Morcerf, the menace and mystery of the Count are emphasized, albeit at the cost of having to deal extensively with Albert himself, played here as a generic whining brat. The Count’s full retinue appear, including Bertuccio, Baptistin, Ali (a floppy-eared alien, suitably mute), and a radiant Haydée. Each of the revenge plots end properly, with Fernand disgraced, Danglars ruined, and Villefort driven mad. Contemporaries of Albert’s like Eugénie Danglars, Valentine de Villefort, Maximilien Morrel, Franz d’Epinay, Lucien Debray, and Beauchamp all have their correct roles, although Eugénie and Franz are expanded and somewhat altered, playing up a love triangle between them and Albert (with a twist). The whole soirée at the house in Auteuil is included, as are Héloïse de Villefort’s poisonings and her relationship with Édouard. Finally, while the ending itself is altered (why can no version ever include Edmond and Haydée together?), the redemption of Edmond after falling prey to the hubris of playing God’s avenger is achieved. One major disappointment, however, is how little of the life of Edmond before meeting Albert at the carnival on Luna is shown – his time as a sailor, capture, imprisonment, escape, and discovery of the treasure are only briefly treated in the final episodes through flashbacks.

So how will Stardust fare in its (initial) translation? The first glimpse was the trailer, which boded ill. Absent was any of the critical interplay of Tristran and Yvaine upon first meeting in the crater. Captain Alberic – now called Captain Shakespeare and played by Robert De Niro – seems to have an expanded role as a comical sky pirate(?). Pfeiffer vamps in a mirror as the Witch-Queen regains her youth. Tristran swordfights, swordfights some more, and does an Errol Flynn with a chandelier. The world behind the wall is never identified as Faerie, none of the characters seem other than human, and most worrisome of all, no hint is given that this is a romance and not a fantasy quest action/adventure. Are the set and costume designs even mindful of Charles Vess’ accompanying illustrations?

So it was a great comfort to come across a post on Neil’s journal specifically about the trailer. For example, he notes that “the current trailer…is aimed at people who have never heard of Stardust, and it gives you the set-up (he’s going to cross the wall to bring back a fallen star for the girl he’s in love with) and what happens next (the star is actually a girl) and a sense that After That Lots of Stuff Happens.” And as for the change in focus from the actual story, “that they went with the sword-fightingy bits and a lot of running around rather than the love story for the Stuff Happens is fair enough — you only have two minutes, after all.” He also includes a link to the UK version of the trailer, which includes a few more scenes such as the ghost princes and the Old Guard, and finally, a moment of Tristan leading Yvaine by the chain which suggests that the critical arc of their relationship is at least partially intact.

The next reassurance is an interview with Gaiman and Vess about the origins of the book, and how the movie came about. After seeing a falling star in the clarity of the Tucson desert, Gaiman had one of his what-if inspirations, “What if it wasn’t a star, it was a girl. And what if she had a broken leg and a foul-temper and had no desire to be dragged halfway across the world and presented to anybody’s would-be fiancée?” After some anecdotes about his experiment with writing longhand with a new fountain pen while staying at Tori Amos’ house, and the collaborative process with Vess for scenes like the fairy market, Gaiman tells about seeing the first footage from the film, after which “I wound up with a grin on my face that you couldn’t have removed with an ax.” The highlight is the background on how Jane Goldman came to write the script, after deciding that the director Matthew Vaughn is a “boys’ director” and would need help capturing the romance, otherwise “it is going to be Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Fairies.”

Finally we have the curious few who have already seen preview screenings and seem delighted. One particularly welcome summary: “What I love about this film is that the very essence; the very SPIRIT of the book remains firmly intact.” Additional comfort is provided via the official movie site, which includes some TV spots and other short clips that confirm that both Ditchwater Sal and her slave (Una) will have their proper roles. One addition seems to be Humphrey, a token rival for Victoria’s attention, so clearly the movie will be its own thing, as it must. But now I can return to looking forward to the August 10th release with anticipation and renewed hope that the story will indeed remain intact in spirit, rather than dread and foreboding.