Readers Group Diary October

You've seen the film, now read the book!

Jane Southern's reading group from Bedford discuss Captain Corelli's Mandolin. Share in their discussion or volunteer your group to write a diary by emailing us at readers@penguin.co.uk

We had read Captain Corelli's Mandolin a year or two ago, well before the film was even mooted, let alone before the first dribbles of publicity had begun to leak out. It had given rise to some lively discussion. We were particularly divided about the end. So when we heard that there was to be a film, awash with beautiful scenery and lush romanticism, we decided that we would all go to see it, and base the ensuing discussion on how our reactions to the film differed, having already read the book.

It was interesting what we all remembered, and what we had forgotten. The intricacies of the war-related plot had mostly been forgotten, except that we were able to pick out some inconsistencies of history; for example, the Italians attacked the Germans in the film, which they also did in real life, but in the book they did not. Everyone remembered the bomb on the beach, which turned into a striking and funny scene in the film. The cutting of the Greek resistance parleying was generally applauded; we found it to be long-winded, interfering with the development of the romantic story, and not adding anything to the more immediate three-way drama of Greek versus Italian and German. We all remembered that we had hated the ending. Why on earth did he come back, then go away again? It neither fitted with the character, nor with the rules of romance. So we were glad that the 'right' ending had been applied.

We were side-tracked by a discussion of the way the actors looked. The central figure of Nic Cage as Corelli sparked off a lively debate. Was he authentic? We were divided in appreciation of his looks in general (remember we are a mixed group), but in agreement that he looked absolutely nothing like the Captain Corelli of all our imaginations. He grew on Sally; at first very resistant to his very individual, definite type, she came to feel that he was very good. In fact if you shut your eyes to any previous image of Corelli from the book, he fitted in well, the brawny shoulders and twinkling eyes quite believable as an Italian. On the other hand if you were irritated by the aura of Hollywood that hung about him, 1940s uniform notwithstanding, then your enjoyment of the film was much lessened. I remembered a comment from a friend who had met John Hurt at a party, who said that it had been very difficult working with Cage day-to-day, shut away on a small island with limited amenities. He still insisted on his special water and provisions, and that everything had to grind to a halt to accommodate his preferred start and finish times. This caused a certain frisson.

Hilary cleverly spotted that John Hurt was wearing the same suit all the way through, although sometimes a larger version, to show that he had lost weight. And was he a believable Greek? We felt he did the accent pretty well, although he did seem a bit old to be Pelagia's father.

We agreed that it was a pity Carlo's role was so small, you had to know the book to understand the point of his otherwise inexplicably selfless action in front of the firing squad. It was a big negative point that the whole homosexual element had been deleted, whether from prudishness or simplification of plot. It led to everything else becoming very black and white. People were Good, or Bad: the local woman who had the affair with the German soldier was a traitor; Mandras, previously a Bad person, made clear by his striking Pelagia, redeemed himself by rescuing Corelli in the touching hope that Pelagia would love him again. The complex feelings of love and loyalty that de Bernières had given him, his ancient possession of Pelagia, clashing with his devout revolutionary fervour, his physical aggression and obsession, were completely lost. Rob pointed out that the whole film was very predictable; easy, watchable, schmaltzy even. Changing the ending, even though we all agreed that it was a good idea, tallied in with the accusation of predictability; it was romanticised and cliched.

Watching a film, you cannot ignore the personality or physical appearance of the actors, rather than being able to invent your own personality for each. Christian Bale, as Mandras, was first a gorgeous hunk, then a bleeding and dusty tight-lipped hero. But at the same time he was the same Christian Bale who had impersonated American Psycho, with all its connotations of urban New York and madness. You could not help associating the Mandras of the film with something of this.

The many scenes of island life had perforce to be cut down to a few representational ones, which added to the clichéd feel. We all liked the bomb scene on the beach; some of us liked the war scene, finding it dramatic and provoking to the imagination; others found it ridiculous, a reduction of the mess and roar of battle down to a few well-thrown rocks and bombs and some town buildings turned to rubble. The quirkiness was eradicated, along with de Bernières' paradentist who spoke ancient Greek, who was subsumed into the film's humorous character of the man with the pea in his ear. The subtle humour of the original was replaced by slapstick.

But it had its own intrinsic value, the film as a whole worked well. Having accepted it at face value we all enjoyed it very much; the beautiful scenery, the light and shade, the colourful village scenes, gorgeous Penelope Cruz. The simplified plot added to the effectiveness. If you made a pact not to judge it as a dramatisation of the book, it was fine; as soon as you started picking holes in it, it fell to pieces.

We have seen a couple of other films alongside reading the books. One was To Kill a Mockingbird, many years ago. The old black and white movie rendered the monotonous life of the town fantastically well; the dusty street, the slow pace of the days, Scout's short dress and skinny legs, the packed courtroom with its black and white drama reflected both in the faces and in the colour of the film. Although the same charge could be levelled of reducing the story down to the minimum, in this case it actually improved on the book. The fundamental theme of racial suspicion and hatred, Addie standing up before a hushed court, the staring faces; all were perfectly rendered.

The other was Trainspotting. Watching this was more an ordeal than anything else. Some of us were at first suspicious of the book, but ended up loving it, and we had a spirited discussion about whether it was valid to base a book on drug use. When it came to the film we agreed that the negative message was all the more emphasised by the horrendous depiction of drug-induced hallucinations. Reading the book you find yourself laughing a lot at the subtle, insinuating humour which forces you to think about the complex relationship between laughter and horror, to examine what you yourself find funny. In the film the humour was of necessity more obvious. The scene in the toilet bowl is hilarious in the book but revolting in the film.

The big drawback of film versus book is of course that you are forced to accept the director's view; the visual impression is so vivid that it superimposes itself on the less tangible evocations which float in your mind after reading the text. This is usually a pity. Similarly an aural impression strongly imposed, which is usually not present at all in the reading, Trainspotting being an honourable exception. Irvine Welch plunges the reader straight into a sort of Scottish babble, making absolutely no allowances for a bewildered Sassenach reader, and it takes a dozen pages to click into what people are saying. Before long, however, the characters' individual voices ring clear enough to be heard in your head. But de Bernières was not concerned with the accents of Captain Corelli or Pelagia, so suddenly hearing their voices is an odd experience. In this case, the sort of ersatz Greek adopted by everyone (was it to accommodate Penelope Cruz's accented English?) worked very well. Even Cage managed credibly, although as he is well known for being American you spend some time at first listening out for infelicities, rather than appreciating his acting.

Of course a simple plot does not necessarily make a good film, but it would seem that the film dramatisation of a book with a simple plot works best. Something like The Usual Suspects might not be a successful novel, as the light and shade of the setting, the gory scenes, and the complexities of the plot were thrown into sharp relief by cutting back to the storytelling of the central character. In the three examples above, To Kill a Mockingbird and Trainspotting already had simple, dramatic stories which translated very well to the screen, and the simplification of Captain Corelli was what made it a successful film.