Usually I'm a rational person. So I don't know why I did it again...the result is always the same: disappointment, self-loathing, and dying a little inside.I think you may know what I'm talking about: watching the movie version of a beloved book.
It's like a bad relationship. I know I shouldn't, I know I'll regret it in the morning, but gosh darn it...I can't help myself. The Shipping News, The Secret Life of Bees, Memoirs of a Geisha, Beloved, Where the Heart is...these are the names in MY little black book.
This time around it was "Gone With the Wind." Now I know this was not the first time I have watched it. But the last time was in junior high and I was healing from back surgery. Which means I was doped up on pain killers and pretty much only remember Scarlett's dresses in between drool-filled mini naps.
This time I watched the movie with my best friend on the Friday before Valentine's Day. I finished reading the book (which was 12, 987 pages long...just kidding...almost) the week before and was still reveling in the layered storytelling, rich character development, and sweeping language.
I never thought I would say that a four-hour movie's pace was too quick.
But, hey, that's what I thought. Maybe it would have made a better mini-series.
And maybe I'll maintain a little self-respect next time I hear the siren call of a movie version of a favorite novel.
Oh, probably not...Who wants to see Bridget Jones' Diary?
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