OH, AND I ALSO SPENT A LOT OF TIME THINKING ABOUT HOW MUCH RACHEL McADAMS WAS REMINDING ME OF JENNIFER GARNER: So I went on opening night to see the movie adaptation of one of my all-time favorite books, The Time Traveler's Wife. The early reviews were sort of heavy on the meh, so I was a little dubious. I shouldn't have been -- I really, really enjoyed it.
I think the movie was successful on two critical levels. First, the narrative flow had to make sense. I remember reading the book back a few years ago and constantly flipping back and forth between the chapters to see how old Henry was during this part, and whether this other thing happened before or after that thing in Claire's lifetime or in Henry's lifetime, and did this happen already back a few chapters ago? Can't do that in a movie. But the movie didn't need it. Partially through stripping down the subplots and partially through some good casting and makeup for the various Claires (which makeup was entirely unhelpful when it came to Henry, incidentally -- there was one dramatic haircut and one burst of grey hair, each at an important moment, neither of which was repeated, and both of which should have been), they managed to avoid the problem of getting people hopelessly brain-tied. (Incidentally, I wondered after the film whether a viewer who hadn't read the book would feel the same way about the followability of the plot -- anyone here see the movie without reading the book beforehand?)
But the most important thing about making the movie work as well as the book did was this: it had to make me weep weepily for at least half an hour. Mr. Cosmo spent lots of time laughing at me when I was reading the book, because starting at a point maybe two-thirds of the way through, I started crying and did not stop. (Red-nosedly and with lots of shuddery sad breaths of the sort three-year-old Cosmo Boy utters when he's getting over a weepfest of his own -- it was quite glamorous, really.) I am not normally the soggiest of readers, but the thing that got to me was the inevitability of the conclusion. In a book about chronodisplacement, you end up knowing things before you're really supposed to, and when those things are sad, well, all systems are a go for the waterworks. And I am pleased to report that the movie had the same effect -- tears galore. I think the point at which I started crying was different (book: the flash of recognition as to where all this is heading for Henry; movie: Alba's first appearance), but the impact was the same. In fact, three out of the four of us at the movie together had the same soggy experience. (The hard-hearted stalwart, incidentally, was ThingThrower KR, who I'd never had the pleasure of meeting before.)
So I know there are sophisticated critiquers of film who have shredded the acting and the writing and the whatever else they're griping about, but I got to sit in a totally sold-out movie theater with a couple hundred other Audrey Niffenegger enthusiasts and bawl with soggy enthusiasm. Worked for me.
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