Kelly WandThe Da Vinci Code
October 14th 2006 04:05
Lucy rang me up to tell me it was the best book she had ever read. That was all the prompting I needed. There are some people whose opinions you trust implicitly. If Lucy told me to jump in the lake, I would. Chances are, I'd be on fire and hadnft noticed yet.
Previously, Lucy's favourite book had been "The Mists of Avalon" and so I had a pretty fair idea what "The Da Vinci Code" would be about. She was a Goddess worshipper from way back. She used to take me into churches to show me architectural curiosities and religious symbols. As far as human beings go, she ranks pretty highly on the interesting scale. If you met her, you'd like her. Trust me in that.
If anyone alive would love "The Da Vinci Code" it would be her. It runs right through her area of expertise. Dan Brown should have sent her an advanced copy so she could have double checked for historical accuracy. "No, Dan," she would say. "That hidden room is actually open to the public and there is nothing there."
A month or so later, I was at a class designed to tell we eager students how to sell our writing to publishers. It was also a good opportunity for the lecturer to sell her book on the subject. For several hours, we entered into the dreary world of marketing and cross-marketing. Thou shalt consider the potential for a screenplay. An unfilmable book is an unreadable book. You know the kind of thing. Everything, in fact, a writer loathes to hear. Short, punchy sentences. No passive verbs. Chapters so short you can read them between train stations.
There was no point mentioning that none of the books we read were like that. We were merely fools who believed in artistry and the beauty of well crafted words. The only people's opinion who really counted were those who bought their books at airports.
And what paragon of modern literature was laid before us as an example of this perfection? Indeed, it was Dan Brown and the mighty "Da Vinci Code". I bit my tongue. By this stage I had read the book and had loathed its punchy style and formulaic twists and turns. Let us begin with a murder and then run with the standard Hitchcock innocent man accused story line. Let us build every chapter up towards a climax and set the next chapter in a different location and build that up to a near climax. It was so predictable, I wanted to slap the little toe-rag of an author around a bit.
There was one thing I noticed that had escaped the lecturer's attention. Whilst this book followed all the conventions of block buster thriller writing, it was a book where intellectuals talk about obscure cults, secret societies and philosophies. They talk quite a lot and without such talk, the book becomes thin, meaningless and very un-tome like indeed. Any script writer will tell you that this is a very bad thing. If you are going to go esoteric in your movie, you must do so visually. Endless waffle creates boredom.
This book was an unfilmable wolf in sheep's clothing. With Ron Howard signed for the directorial chair and Tom Hanks set to star, this was a big fat turd just waiting to be laid. Now here's the stinger. I enjoyed it far more than the book. Ifm not going to tell you that it's a good film because it isn't. It is nowhere near as bad as I suspected it would be and hence this barrage of faint praise.
A lot of your enjoyment is going to depend on how you take the filmfs central conceit. If you go with it, there is enough going on to keep you amused. If you start pulling at strings, it will fall apart in your hands. My son spent a fair amount of time screaming abuse and disbelief at the screen. Perhaps it was merely the fact that I had read the book that I had a clue what was going on.
For me, the notion of Jesus as a mortal teacher who might have actually been married is hardly earth shaking. It isnft shocking. It is far easier to swallow than most things you hear on the subject. I do, however, know some Christians whose blood would boil at the merest hint of such declared blasphemy and are probably preparing a Crusade against Ron Howard as we speak . Of course, these are people who don't know why Christmas is celebrated three days after the winter solstice or why there is an Easter Bunny and Easter Eggs. Hell. These guys don't know the difference between their Emporor Constantines and their senator Palpatines. However, if they want to strike the blight that is Ron Howard from the face of the globe then who am I to stop them. I saw "Cocoon" and I do not forgive or forget! And don't think that there isn't going to be some kind of divine retribution for your stint as Richie Cunningham. Your day is coming, pal.
No, I take it all back. I cannot side with people who believe that sex is a sin even if they do want to destroy a man whose crimes against cinema have been so (Far and Away) great. I don't know what it is about Howard's directorial style that annoys me so. Well, yes I do. It is the fact that he makes Stephen Spielberg look positively unsentimental. Ron Howard is the saccharine Antichrist of the multiplex.
No. That makes him sound far more exciting than he actually is. Besides, given the dry as dust tone of the novel, maybe a little Howard sugar would sweeten the deal. Wrong. Even that doesnft happen. Howard can't even be trusted to deliver the goods even when they are needed. Despite lopping off a few of the novel's twists and turns, there is still way too much story here to develop character relationships. That is a small mercy because it means Audrey "Amelie" Tautou is not forced into pashing Tom Hanks. I, for one, could not have withstood such a horror.
The casting of this film is annoyingly perfect. Cranky old French detective? Call Jean Reno! Whacky English Lord Teabing (with underlying evil or not?). If he's truly chivalrous you would have called Patrick Stewart so choosing Ian McKellen was a bit of a give away. Getting Alfred Molina in to play the twisted Bishop may, however, have been a bit of overkill. This is especially true when he rolls up looking like he just left the set of "Prick up your Ears."
Of course they wanted Harrison Ford for the role of Langdon but the strain on the makeup budget would be too high. Those loose flaps of skin are also beginning to represent an occupational health and safety hazzard. Hanks does his best to do that inherent goodness thing he does soc ubiquitously. The thing is, he lacks anything that suggests any kind of heroic nature within. The man has no spine. There was one moment when I thought Amelie was going to have to whack him across the face a few times and tell him to pull himself together.
Yesterday, I saw a police car blocking a road. Suddenly a young petite blonde woman walked into the road and I thought she was going to get herself killed by an angry motorist trying to force a gap. She was five feet nothing and looked like butter wouldnft melt in her mouth. When she casually raised her shirt to reveal the huge gun she was packing on her hip, I was damn impressed. (There is also a worrying possibility that I fell in love but I'm trying to ignore that). The irate motorist looked like he took a dump in his pants.
I raise this now to remind you that guns are scary. They are scary any time except when they are in the hands of Tom Hanks. One feels that all one would need to disarm him is a balloon and a pin or perhaps a sign with the word "Boo" on it.
In the book, when Teabing and Langdon discuss the Holy Grail, it is all one long love festival. The author only swaps between voices to avoid accusation of monologue. In the film, Langdon is allowed to make counter arguments. Whilst this allows for a little more conflict in the script it does little to enhance the film's credibility. Seeing Tom Hanks debating with Ian McKellen is like watching Paris Hilton's chihuahua trying to dry hump an elephant.
When a large part of your audience is already groaning about the credibility of the story line, the last thing you need to hear is some one on screen voicing these doubts and seeing them brushed away with a flick of the hand. Worst still, these interjections from Langdon sound like they have been included as a way of hedging bets. They are a way for the film maker to say "I don't actually believe in this stuff"and, if the film maker can't believe then how can the audience.
By now, you've seen the documentaries and read the newspaper comments. You'll already know how thin the historical evidence is for the story line. If there is a secret society protecting the blood line of Christ they would probably be forced to sue for defamation by this production. Besides, no matter how much fact you were able to lay out in favour of such beliefs, it would change nothing. The faithful would cling to their faith (if evolution doesnt shake them then nothing will)and the atheists just wonft give a shit. The Moslems have already been saying pretty much the same thing from the get go anyway.
The story of how paganism managed to survive by weaving hidden imagery and concepts into the Christian faith is a very interesting topic but would make for a particularly lousy film. Of course, if I could write it up as a punchy, predictable novel then who knows? Short sentences, Bob. No digressions.
It matters not how much I sneer because somewhere half a world away Dan Brown is laughing. All the way to the fucking bank.
Previously, Lucy's favourite book had been "The Mists of Avalon" and so I had a pretty fair idea what "The Da Vinci Code" would be about. She was a Goddess worshipper from way back. She used to take me into churches to show me architectural curiosities and religious symbols. As far as human beings go, she ranks pretty highly on the interesting scale. If you met her, you'd like her. Trust me in that.
If anyone alive would love "The Da Vinci Code" it would be her. It runs right through her area of expertise. Dan Brown should have sent her an advanced copy so she could have double checked for historical accuracy. "No, Dan," she would say. "That hidden room is actually open to the public and there is nothing there."
A month or so later, I was at a class designed to tell we eager students how to sell our writing to publishers. It was also a good opportunity for the lecturer to sell her book on the subject. For several hours, we entered into the dreary world of marketing and cross-marketing. Thou shalt consider the potential for a screenplay. An unfilmable book is an unreadable book. You know the kind of thing. Everything, in fact, a writer loathes to hear. Short, punchy sentences. No passive verbs. Chapters so short you can read them between train stations.
There was no point mentioning that none of the books we read were like that. We were merely fools who believed in artistry and the beauty of well crafted words. The only people's opinion who really counted were those who bought their books at airports.
And what paragon of modern literature was laid before us as an example of this perfection? Indeed, it was Dan Brown and the mighty "Da Vinci Code". I bit my tongue. By this stage I had read the book and had loathed its punchy style and formulaic twists and turns. Let us begin with a murder and then run with the standard Hitchcock innocent man accused story line. Let us build every chapter up towards a climax and set the next chapter in a different location and build that up to a near climax. It was so predictable, I wanted to slap the little toe-rag of an author around a bit.
There was one thing I noticed that had escaped the lecturer's attention. Whilst this book followed all the conventions of block buster thriller writing, it was a book where intellectuals talk about obscure cults, secret societies and philosophies. They talk quite a lot and without such talk, the book becomes thin, meaningless and very un-tome like indeed. Any script writer will tell you that this is a very bad thing. If you are going to go esoteric in your movie, you must do so visually. Endless waffle creates boredom.
This book was an unfilmable wolf in sheep's clothing. With Ron Howard signed for the directorial chair and Tom Hanks set to star, this was a big fat turd just waiting to be laid. Now here's the stinger. I enjoyed it far more than the book. Ifm not going to tell you that it's a good film because it isn't. It is nowhere near as bad as I suspected it would be and hence this barrage of faint praise.
A lot of your enjoyment is going to depend on how you take the filmfs central conceit. If you go with it, there is enough going on to keep you amused. If you start pulling at strings, it will fall apart in your hands. My son spent a fair amount of time screaming abuse and disbelief at the screen. Perhaps it was merely the fact that I had read the book that I had a clue what was going on.
For me, the notion of Jesus as a mortal teacher who might have actually been married is hardly earth shaking. It isnft shocking. It is far easier to swallow than most things you hear on the subject. I do, however, know some Christians whose blood would boil at the merest hint of such declared blasphemy and are probably preparing a Crusade against Ron Howard as we speak . Of course, these are people who don't know why Christmas is celebrated three days after the winter solstice or why there is an Easter Bunny and Easter Eggs. Hell. These guys don't know the difference between their Emporor Constantines and their senator Palpatines. However, if they want to strike the blight that is Ron Howard from the face of the globe then who am I to stop them. I saw "Cocoon" and I do not forgive or forget! And don't think that there isn't going to be some kind of divine retribution for your stint as Richie Cunningham. Your day is coming, pal.
No, I take it all back. I cannot side with people who believe that sex is a sin even if they do want to destroy a man whose crimes against cinema have been so (Far and Away) great. I don't know what it is about Howard's directorial style that annoys me so. Well, yes I do. It is the fact that he makes Stephen Spielberg look positively unsentimental. Ron Howard is the saccharine Antichrist of the multiplex.
No. That makes him sound far more exciting than he actually is. Besides, given the dry as dust tone of the novel, maybe a little Howard sugar would sweeten the deal. Wrong. Even that doesnft happen. Howard can't even be trusted to deliver the goods even when they are needed. Despite lopping off a few of the novel's twists and turns, there is still way too much story here to develop character relationships. That is a small mercy because it means Audrey "Amelie" Tautou is not forced into pashing Tom Hanks. I, for one, could not have withstood such a horror.
The casting of this film is annoyingly perfect. Cranky old French detective? Call Jean Reno! Whacky English Lord Teabing (with underlying evil or not?). If he's truly chivalrous you would have called Patrick Stewart so choosing Ian McKellen was a bit of a give away. Getting Alfred Molina in to play the twisted Bishop may, however, have been a bit of overkill. This is especially true when he rolls up looking like he just left the set of "Prick up your Ears."
Of course they wanted Harrison Ford for the role of Langdon but the strain on the makeup budget would be too high. Those loose flaps of skin are also beginning to represent an occupational health and safety hazzard. Hanks does his best to do that inherent goodness thing he does soc ubiquitously. The thing is, he lacks anything that suggests any kind of heroic nature within. The man has no spine. There was one moment when I thought Amelie was going to have to whack him across the face a few times and tell him to pull himself together.
Yesterday, I saw a police car blocking a road. Suddenly a young petite blonde woman walked into the road and I thought she was going to get herself killed by an angry motorist trying to force a gap. She was five feet nothing and looked like butter wouldnft melt in her mouth. When she casually raised her shirt to reveal the huge gun she was packing on her hip, I was damn impressed. (There is also a worrying possibility that I fell in love but I'm trying to ignore that). The irate motorist looked like he took a dump in his pants.
I raise this now to remind you that guns are scary. They are scary any time except when they are in the hands of Tom Hanks. One feels that all one would need to disarm him is a balloon and a pin or perhaps a sign with the word "Boo" on it.
In the book, when Teabing and Langdon discuss the Holy Grail, it is all one long love festival. The author only swaps between voices to avoid accusation of monologue. In the film, Langdon is allowed to make counter arguments. Whilst this allows for a little more conflict in the script it does little to enhance the film's credibility. Seeing Tom Hanks debating with Ian McKellen is like watching Paris Hilton's chihuahua trying to dry hump an elephant.
When a large part of your audience is already groaning about the credibility of the story line, the last thing you need to hear is some one on screen voicing these doubts and seeing them brushed away with a flick of the hand. Worst still, these interjections from Langdon sound like they have been included as a way of hedging bets. They are a way for the film maker to say "I don't actually believe in this stuff"and, if the film maker can't believe then how can the audience.
By now, you've seen the documentaries and read the newspaper comments. You'll already know how thin the historical evidence is for the story line. If there is a secret society protecting the blood line of Christ they would probably be forced to sue for defamation by this production. Besides, no matter how much fact you were able to lay out in favour of such beliefs, it would change nothing. The faithful would cling to their faith (if evolution doesnt shake them then nothing will)and the atheists just wonft give a shit. The Moslems have already been saying pretty much the same thing from the get go anyway.
The story of how paganism managed to survive by weaving hidden imagery and concepts into the Christian faith is a very interesting topic but would make for a particularly lousy film. Of course, if I could write it up as a punchy, predictable novel then who knows? Short sentences, Bob. No digressions.
It matters not how much I sneer because somewhere half a world away Dan Brown is laughing. All the way to the fucking bank.
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