"Books versus movie adaptations. What is your take on them, and what are the pros and cons?"
When asked this question, I have to admit my first response was a completely dumbfounded look. In the back of my head, my inner voice went, "What kind of question is that? Does it really matter?" I struggled with how to approach this post for days. It was on my way to the fridge, in the middle of the night, on a quest for chocolate cake, that my gaze landed on a book. A scary book. A book so scary that my husband and I actually spent about an hour debating which one of our household pets would be most likely to kill us after we both read this story. James Patterson's Zoo.
I won't go into detail, but let's just say I haven't given it a review yet because I'm resisting the urge to give it a one-star with the rational of, "Your book sucks. It was so scary I almost peed my pants. I was already scared of chimpanzees and now I'm scared of my blind cat because of you. She's going to kill us all!"
I realized that for all my bluster, I'm actually scared of my own shadow. This isn't funny when you have sarcastic cats in your house who will slowly push the bathroom door open while you are in the shower, or will hide on dining chairs under the table and pop up over the back of the chair to smack your arm when you walk by. The point is, I'm easily startled.
Growing up, I liked reading horror books. Desperation by Stephen King. The Vampire Lestat by Ann Rice. I would pour over them fondly, and easily sleep with no nightmares. But you can't get me to watch a horror movie if your life depended on it. The gorier it is, the more scary things jump out at you, the more I scream like a baby and nearly pee my panties. My horror movie limit with Stephen King is The Stand. I love that movie, but I didn't last five minutes with Cujo before I ran from the room screaming and spent the next few years eyeing every St. Bernard like it was out to get me. Ann Rice's Queen of the Damned movie adaptation? Who cares they totally botched the book? That man is made of sexy and I just pretended it wasn't based on anything to ease the part of my mind that wants to scream bloody murder over every liberty the conversion took *cough*How Lestat was turned*cough* .
I won't go all Lord of the Rings fangirl and point out what they did miss, because to be honest I can't help being in awe of what they did achieve (Long live sexy Legolas! Just saying). I will diss on Eragon all the live long day, though (did they even read the book?!). With more and more books coming out as movies, I have to say two things:
One, I must admit I'm grateful for some of these movie adaptations because I never would have read the book. Percy Jackson, Ender's Game, I Am Legend are pretty good movies. I have no intention on reading the book because I don't read often in my off time.
But—and there's always a but, isn't there?—I have to admit that I will always be grateful for books. They give me the freedom to envision characters and scenes my own way. This means I can also mentally dumb down the gore, and nothing ever jumps out at me. I like books better because, let's face it, I'm a big baby and they aren't scary.
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