Best screen adaptations of novels

For this list, I imposed on myself a few rules: 

a) only name adaptations of novels I have read (e.g. I can’t name Little Women); 

b) exclude films I don’t remember very well (e.g. Gone with the Wind); 

c) only name films/ series that are great films/ series in their own right (e.g. the 1972 War and Peace is in many ways an excellent adaptation of Tolstoy’s novel, but I exclude it because of the disastrous Natasha).   

Chronological order. 

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1931) 

Frankenstein (1931) 

Rebecca (1940) 

The Heiress (1941), from Washington Square 

The Sound of the Mountain (1954) 

The Innocents (1961), from The Turn of the Screw 

Tom Jones (1963) 

Woman in the Dunes (1964) 

Dr Strangelove (1964), from Red Alert 

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969)

The Godfather (1972) 

Anna Karenina (1977) 

Jane Eyre (1983) 

Bleak House (1985) 

Arashi ga oka (1988) from Wuthering Heights 

Alice (1988), from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

The Age of Innocence (1993)

Pride and Prejudice (1995) 

Clueless (1995), from Emma 

Emma (1996, with Kate Beckinsale) 

Love & Friendship (2016) 

See related blog post: What makes a good screen adaptation?

Recent viewings, recent reads, and my fascination with Japanese culture

Recently I’ve been watching the Zatoichi films. Have you heard of Zatoichi, the blind masseur/swordsman? The original series consists of 26 films featuring Shintaro Katsu (or Katsu Shintaro if you prefer the Japanese order), from 1962 to 1989. Fun stuff. All available on the Criterion Channel (hmm, this looks like an ad, I should be paid). 

I’ve seen 8 films so far (in the wrong order), and my favourites are Zatoichi Goes to the Fire Festival, Zatoichi and the Chest of Gold, and Zatoichi Challenged. Watch those if you don’t intend to go through all 26 films. And if you’ve ever wondered what happens when we mix chanbara/ chambara (a Japanese genre) and wuxia (a Chinese genre), wonder no more: you can watch Zatoichi and the One-Armed Swordsman, with Jimmy Wang Yu as Wang Kang from the One-Armed Swordsman series. 

There’s also Zatoichi Meets Yojimbo (yes, Toshiro Mifune). 

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I also saw Kokuho (2025), which I thought was quite good. The main character is Kikuo, the son of a murdered yakuza boss, who becomes an apprentice to a kabuki actor and performs as onnagata (playing female roles), and the film is about the hard work he has to do and the high price he has to pay to become a national treasure (kokuho). 

The only problem—which is about me rather than the film—is that I don’t know kabuki (a classical form of Japanese theatre) and therefore don’t know whether someone is acting well or badly, whether a dance movement is good, when and how an actor outperforms another (which is rather important here), and so on. Nevertheless, it’s an interesting portrayal of an artist willing to sacrifice everything for art.

But perhaps it’s a good thing that I know nothing about kabuki—Ryo Yoshizawa, the lead actor, trained for about a year and a half to do the role—I might have got annoyed the way I do when watching Hollywood actors do Shakespeare (I’m looking at you, Frances McDormand). 

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After English-language cinema (obvious reasons), Japanese cinema is the one I know the best. So many great films. So many great directors. 

If I am to make a list of 10 favourite Japanese films, my list would look different tomorrow. How do you choose? The 50s and 60s are especially wonderful: lots of masterpieces by Mizoguchi, Kurosawa, and Ozu, but also Kwaidan, Gate of Hell, Harakiri, Woman of the Dunes, The Mad Fox, The Insect Woman, the Zatoichi films, the films of Naruse, and so on. Contemporary Japanese cinema I know less well, but Kokuho is good, Kore-eda is good. 

Last year, I also discovered anime (if you’re prejudiced against it, so was I, but there’s anime and there’s anime). My favourite is Satoshi Kon. 

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You know sometimes you watch a film and think it has to be a film and wouldn’t work in any other medium? I’m talking about films which blur the line between reality and fantasy, which convey through images something ineffable, which try to reach something beyond the intellect, such as Persona, Cries and Whispers, 8 ½, The Exterminating Angel, Perfect Blue, Paprika, etc.

I just read a collection of Akutagawa’s stories and thought “Shadows” should instead have been a film—as a short story, it’s clumsy and awkward. It’s the only story in the collection that I think doesn’t quite work, though I like that concept for a film. 

(Not going into details as I don’t want to spoil the ending). 

 

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After quitting on Barbara Pym, I read a collection of 22 short stories by Akutagawa, translated by Richard Melhurst, which I bought in Jakarta (yes, I'm showing off). One of my favourite short story writers (“Hell Screen” especially), but for some reason I’ve never been able to write about him. 

This book is quite different from the collection of 18 stories translated by Jay Rubin and published by Penguin. Some of the stories, like “The Liquor Worm”, “The Devil and Tobacco”, or “The Dogs and the Flute”, were probably based on, or inspired by, fairytales. The stories that surprised me most were “The Ball”, “Autumn”, “The Flatcar”, and “Genkaku Cottage”, which felt Chekhovian. Very different from the strange, intense image I’ve always had of Akutagawa, these stories also have the subtlety and sensitivity one finds in Chekhov. 

Such a versatile writer. 

I didn’t reread “Hell Screen”, “Rashomon” and “In a Grove” (these two formed Kurosawa’s Rashomon), and “The Nose”. Among the new stories, my favourites are possibly “Genkaku Cottage” (about the people around the dying Genkaku, especially his wife Otori, his mistress Oyoshi, and his nurse Kono), “Autumn” (about two sisters who love the same man), “Du Zichun” (about a man who wants to become a wizard), “An Odd Tale” (about a woman who has a husband in the war), and “Otomi” (about a young woman and a cat). 

Akutagawa might be my favourite Japanese writer, or at least my favourite modern Japanese writer. 

On Sense and Sensibility (2026)

I suppose I’m part of the problem.  

“Why do they keep adapting Jane Austen a zillion times instead of Frances Burney?”, I asked. And yet I went to see the new Sense and Sensibility (and might even see the new Pride and Prejudice). It is—I’m going to be frank—an unnecessary and mediocre film.    

But let’s start with the positives. I like Daisy Edgar-Jones as Elinor. Everyone agrees that the 1995 film by Ang Lee is (more or less) perfect, but most people would agree that the 36-year-old Emma Thompson, though wonderful, is a bit too old for the role, yes? Daisy Edgar-Jones is 28 and can get away with playing the 19-year-old Elinor, and I think she conveys well the restraint and reticence and pain of the character. Fiona Shaw is brilliant as Mrs Jennings, often a scene-stealer, and I have no complaints about George MacKay as Edward Ferrars. The young audiences (that the film targets) would probably love that couple. 

The film however has two major problems. One is Esmé Creed-Miles, who is dreadful as Marianne. The new Sense and Sensibility fails to capture the bond between the Dashwood sisters, and fails to convince the audience (I mean me) that in the end Marianne is developing her feelings for Colonel Brandon, both of which I think are because of the actress. 

The other flaw is in the writing (Diana Reid) and directing (Georgia Oakley). When the trailer came out, lots of people commented on the historically inaccurate hair and costumes—where are the bonnets, why do they wear their hair down, why does everything look so drab and miserable in films these days, and so on. But the film is even more erroneous and George Oakley doesn’t seem to understand—or doesn’t care—that Jane Austen’s world is governed by strict rules for social conduct and this is a fundamental part of the novels. Oakley’s characters do many things that would never have been considered acceptable in Regency England. Why does Willoughby lift up Marianne during a dance, and later carry her in front of everyone at the ball? Why does Elinor run through people at the party, drawing people’s attention to herself and her sister? Why does Marianne shout “Willoughby!” and question him and make a scene in front of Miss Grey and in front of everyone at the party? Why do Colonel Brandon and Willoughby have a duel right in front of the house, where they can be—and are—seen by the Dashwoods? Why does Edward Ferrars discuss with Elinor his engagement to Lucy Steele? (The circumstances of the engagement are also changed). Why does Elinor speak of her feelings first, in the end? Some people may not care (like those numerous film reviewers I read who did not mention these changes), but I do. One critic even complained that the new adaptation fell flat as Oakley didn’t drag Austen’s novel into the present (why should filmmakers?), but this is not the Regency: the dialogue may not be modern but the behaviour is—all these things I mentioned are not the way Austen’s characters behave.  

There are other things. I don’t like Colonel Brandon in the film, though it’s mainly because of the writing rather than the actor Herbert Nordrum. Some of you won’t like that Mr Palmer is for some reason played by Eliot Sumner, who is female, which takes one out of the story or is at least distracting (especially if you go see the film with someone who doesn’t know the story). 

(Incidentally there are a few nepo babies in the film: Eliot Sumner is the daughter of Sting and Trudie Styler; Esmé Creed-Miles is the daughter of Charlie Creed-Miles and Samantha Morton, who’s in Nolan’s Odyssey; Frank Dillane, who plays Willoughby, is the son of Stephen Dillane and Naomi Wirthner. Whom did I miss?)  

As for cinematography and production design, you can tell from the trailer: there are some nice shots but the film looks dull and drab. 

Overall, it’s not a disastrous adaptation like the 2022 Persuasion or ridiculous like the 2026 Wuthering Heights, but it’s not good. 

I should watch Ang Lee’s film again. 

In praise of Satoshi Kon

It was last year when I discovered Satoshi Kon. He’s now one of my favourite directors, and guess what, you should watch his films too, even if you’re prejudiced against anime (as I was). 

Perfect Blue (1997): First one I saw and still my favourite. The film is about a member of a Japanese idol group who leaves the music industry in order to pursue an acting career. She soon finds herself stalked and threatened by an obsessive fan unhappy with her decision to leave the group (I don’t think you would want to join the Japanese showbiz after this); as things escalate and gruesome murders take place, she slowly loses her grip on reality (like Lady Macbeth). It’s a serious film and a great film, blurring the line between reality and fantasy and fiction—three layers. Black Swan clearly got ideas stolen from Perfect Blue, but Perfect Blue is much better. 

Millennium Actress (2001): Two documentary filmmakers come to interview a famous actress decades after her retirement from the film industry and she tells them about the love of her life. On a personal level, I don’t like the film as much as the other three by Satoshi Kon (as I find her love story stupid); but on a technical level, it is an impressive film as Kon again blurs the line between reality and cinema. I also like that Millennium Actress references Kurosawa, Ozu, etc.  

Tokyo Godfathers (2003): This one is quite unusual as it’s a comedy drama and (largely) realistic. Three homeless people—a middle-aged alcoholic, a trans woman, and a teenage runaway—find an abandoned baby in the trash on Christmas’s Eve and set out to find the parents. With such a storyline and such a set of characters, it could easily become sentimental and corny, but it isn’t—it’s funny and moving and the characters are full of life. Roger Ebert calls it “a story that will never, ever, be remade by Disney” (which should appeal to some of you). Might watch it again at Christmas.

Paprika (2006): His last film. A group of scientists create a device that allows people to view someone else’s dreams. The device however gets stolen and shit happens—people lose control of their minds and dreams merge and nightmares flood into the real world. Do I understand Paprika? Not the Jungian and Freudian ideas, no. But it’s a fascinating film nevertheless, and the rich and colourful and utterly bizarre dreamworld of Paprika makes me realise how drab and boring dream sequences in most films are. I can’t decide if this one or Perfect Blue is Satoshi Kon’s greatest film. 

Online I’ve come across some people who think literature is a greater art form than cinema. I don’t agree. I think they’re different art forms with different ways of telling a story and different strengths. Cinema can do certain things that literature (or some other art forms) can’t—when a film is like a dream, or when it blurs the line between reality and fantasy and fiction—we see that in Ingmar Bergman, we see that in Federico Fellini, and we see that in Satoshi Kon. 

Pity he died so soon. 

What makes a good screen adaptation?

I have seen 7 screen adaptations of Anna Karenina. That probably tells you I’m a bit mad. But as a lover of literature and cinema, I’m also fascinated by adaptations—what makes a good one? 

Let’s start with Anna Karenina. Among the 7 versions I have seen, the best is without doubt the 1977 series by the BBC, with Nicola Pagett. We all know filmmakers have to make cuts, we all know filmmakers have to simplify the story, but the problem with most adaptations of Anna Karenina is that they don’t convey the complexity of the characters—Karenin in early adaptations tends to be portrayed as a monster whereas Karenin in some later adaptations is portrayed more sympathetically, with Anna and Vronsky presented as shallow and selfish—the 1977 series is the only one which depicts the complexity and self-contradictions and multiple facets of Anna, Karenin, and Vronsky; the only one which reminds me of the qualities for which I love Tolstoy’s novel. 

If we talk about War and Peace, Bondarchuk’s film series from 1966-1967 is popular, but I would argue that it only focuses on the epic-ness of the book. It is technically spectacular but shallow and hollow, stripping the story of depth and complexity, removing Tolstoy’s philosophical and religious ideas, reducing Pierre’s search for meaning, simplifying the “thinking characters” (Pierre and Andrei), paying little attention to emotional conflicts between characters, etc. The 1972 series by the BBC, though imperfect, shows a much better understanding of Tolstoy’s characters and ideas, and respect for the text. 

This doesn’t mean I think only faithful adaptations are worthwhile, doesn’t mean I think filmmakers have to be slaves to the sources. When I complain about film adaptations, people sometimes accuse me of being a purist, but I’m not. I find it fascinating when a classic story is moved to a different setting, a different culture: the story of Dangerous Liaisons for instance is moved from 18th century France to feudal Korea in Untold Scandal, and modern-day America in Cruel Intentions; Fingersmith, set in the Victorian era, is adapted into South Korean film The Handmaiden. 

Sometimes it doesn’t work quite well: Bride and Prejudice does a few clever things, moving the story of Pride and Prejudice to modern-day India and making Mr Darcy American, and it’s fun enough, but it doesn’t have the sense of urgency of Jane Austen’s novel, either in the sisters getting married or in the Wickham sub-plot; the Mrs Bennet character is therefore just vulgar and annoying; and Lalita (the equivalent of Elizabeth Bennet) comes across as nationalistic and more confrontational than witty, which gets tiresome after a while. But sometimes it works wonders: in Ran and Arashi ga oka, Kurosawa and Yoshida take King Lear and Wuthering Heights respectively as a starting point, and create something different, something very Japanese, something that stands on their own. As I wrote in a recent blog post about Wuthering Heights, Arashi ga oka is its own thing—Onimaru is not Heathcliff; Kinu is not Catherine; Hidemaru is not Hindley; Mitsuhiko is not Edgar Linton; Tae is not Isabella; Yoshimaru is not Hareton; young Kinu is not Cathy—the characters can be mapped onto Emily Bronte’s characters but they are different and their relationships are different. And yet it captures the violence, savagery, eroticism, and strangeness of Emily Bronte’s novel, which the supposedly faithful adaptations of Wuthering Heights don’t do, as most adaptations only focus on the love story, reduce the malice and brutality, and often cut the second generation.

A similar example is Clueless: loosely based on Emma and set in an American high school, it is its own thing, loved by both Jane Austen’s fans and people who have no idea it’s inspired by a 19th century novel; yet at the same time, Amy Heckerling captures the essence of Austen’s novel much better than some supposedly faithful adaptations do. What I mean is that Emma might be snobbish, she might misperceive everything, she might make a mess of people’s lives, but she means well and wants to do good and has self-reflection—we also see this in Cher in Clueless, whereas Anya Taylor-Joy and especially Gwyneth Paltrow portray Emma as bitchy, catty, even two-faced, nothing like Austen’s character. 

The trouble is that most screen adaptations are not faithful adaptations which take the text seriously and show great understanding of the source story (such as the 1995 Pride and Prejudice); but they are also not interesting adaptations which take the novel as a starting point and become their own work of art (such as Jan Švankmajer’s Alice). Most adaptations are usually somewhere in the middle. 

Take for example the 2005 Pride and Prejudice: it doesn’t transcend its source material and become its own thing; what we have instead is a film which focuses on the attraction and romance but neglects the theme of pride and prejudice, and the development of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy; Matthew Macfadyen’s Darcy doesn’t show much change throughout the story; and Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth often behaves out of character (can you imagine Jane Austen’s Elizabeth eavesdropping on her family members then bursting in on them? Or watching Georgina behind a door then running away like an intruder, with no manners? Or snatching a letter from her father’s hand?).

Or, take the 1999 Mansfield Park: it takes liberties but doesn’t become an original work of art; it’s just an awkward adaptation by someone who doesn’t accept Fanny Price as written by Jane Austen and turns her into something else, and has her accepting Henry Crawford at first, going against the text.

The 2022 Persuasion also seems to be an odd thing that is neither approach: perhaps I shouldn’t comment as I haven’t seen the whole film, but from what I have seen, it is neither a faithful adaptation, depicting the Regency era, nor an independent film with the story moved to the modern era; instead, Carrie Cracknell has characters of different skin colours wearing Regency costumes but speaking modern slang, and changes the character of Anne Elliot beyond recognition (it is perhaps aimed at the audience of Bridgerton).

And this is something lots of people don’t seem to understand: whenever someone criticises a film adaptation for misrepresenting or betraying the text, some people just say fidelity is unimportant and the film is its own work of art, but most of the time it isn’t—most of the time it doesn’t have enough strengths and originality, most of the time it doesn’t transcend its source material—all we’ve got is just a poor film that doesn’t quite transfer a great work of art onto the screen. 

10 favourite adaptations of literary works (in chronological order): 

• Rebecca (1940) 
• The Innocents (1961), from The Turn of the Screw 
• Tom Jones (1963) 
• Woman in the Dunes (1964) 
• Anna Karenina (1977) 
• Ran (1985), from King Lear 
• Arashi ga oka (1988), from Wuthering Heights 
• Alice (1988), from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 
• The Age of Innocence (1993)
• Pride and Prejudice (1995) 

2009 series and 1988 film—the most interesting Wuthering Heights adaptation is Japanese

I don’t know what possessed me, but yesterday I saw two different adaptations of Wuthering Heights: Arashi ga oka (1988) from Japan, and the 2009 TV series featuring Tom Hardy. 

There isn’t much to say about the 2009 series. There are changes. One of the main changes is that they remove the character of Lockwood and change the structure, starting with the removal of Linton Heathcliff to Wuthering Heights, and young Cathy’s first meeting with Heathcliff, which means that we see the revenge on the second generation before knowing who they are and how they relate to each other. Could that be an interesting choice? Perhaps, but I don’t think it works very well. 

Another fault is what I see as a carelessness about the ages of the characters: the introduction of Catherine to the Lintons and the incident of the bulldog should take place in their early teens, we see them differently when they are adults; we need to see time pass between Catherine’s introduction to the Lintons and the marriage proposal, to see Heathcliff find Catherine slowly drifting apart from him; the series also doesn’t mark very well the 17-year gap, as the characters barely look any older.

The worst change is the ending with Heathcliff—I shall be a good girl and not spoil it for those who want to see the series, but I’m sure you would agree. But overall, it’s quite a forgettable adaptation: the series makes more explicit the incest idea but does nothing with it; Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley have more chemistry than Kay Adshead and Ken Hutchison (in the otherwise commendable 1978 series), but as we see in most adaptations, much brutality is removed, Catherine is defanged, and it doesn’t have the strangeness and savagery of the novel.

Arashi ga oka has a much more interesting approach. As Kurosawa creates Throne of Blood out of Macbeth and Ran out of King Lear, Yoshishige Yoshida takes Emily Bronte’s novel as a starting point and creates something different, something very Japanese. In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s method of revenge hinges on 18th century English property, inheritance, and marriage laws; all this has to change when Yoshida adapts the story for feudal Japan. The characters are different—Onimaru is not Heathcliff; Kinu is not Catherine; Hidemaru is not Hindley; Mitsuhiko is not Edgar Linton; Tae is not Isabella; Yoshimaru is not Hareton; young Kinu is not Cathy—the characters can be mapped onto Emily Bronte’s characters but they are different and their relationships are different. For instance, Kinu marries Mitsuhiko not because marrying Onimaru would bring her disgrace and she wants to be rich, but because, according to custom, she would have to become a priestess and leave the mountain, and marrying him is her only way to escape that fate. The relationship between Kinu and Mitsuhiko is therefore changed, and Onimaru’s method of revenge is not the same. 

One may complain that Kinu (the equivalent of Catherine) is defanged and she doesn’t quite match the wildness and savagery of Onimaru, but as I said, Yoshida only uses Wuthering Heights as a starting point and creates a work of art of his own. Arashi ga oka is very Japanese—even the acting seems to bear the influence of Noh theatre. And yet, when I think about it, Arashi ga oka has the violence, savagery, eroticism, and strangeness of the novel; and Onimaru has the brutishness, ferocity, and viciousness of Heathcliff; he even seems demonic. 

I can see why many people think Arashi ga oka is the best adaptation of Wuthering Heights. If you want a faithful adaptation, this won’t be for you. But if you want a film that stands on its own and at the same time does capture the strangeness, brutality, and eroticism of Emily Bronte’s novel, this is the film to watch. There is something elemental about it. 

I will also add that Arashi ga oka is very visually striking and well-framed. Even if you don’t like the film as a whole, you would love the cinematography. 

Strongly recommend.

Wuthering Heights (1978) and the difficulty of adapting Emily Bronte’s novel

Anyone who loves Wuthering Heights has long recognised the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of adapting it (properly) for the screen. There is something about it that resists adaptation. My friend Himadri says “There seems something so wild & elemental in the novel. And as soon as you flesh it out with actors and with real locations, it all comes down to earth with a bump. There’s a sense of terror running through the novel that no adaptation seems able to capture.” 

Since the Laurence Olivier – Merle Oberon film in 1939, filmmakers have had a long tradition of reducing the savagery and brutality, cutting away the second half, and turning Wuthering Heights into a romance. Over and over again, I have come across people who come to Wuthering Heights expecting a passionate love story, clearly because of pop culture and all these film adaptations, and getting shocked by the emotional violence and the detestable characters in the book. So I came to the 1978 TV series with great expectations, having read that it’s the most faithful to the novel, and noticed that it’s made by the BBC one year after they gave us the best adaptation of Anna Karenina (Caroline Langrishe, who plays Kitty in Anna Karenina, here plays Isabella).

As it turns out, the 1978 has the opposite problem: the cruelty is there, the violence is there, the hate is there—but where is the love, the passion? I don’t see the chemistry, the passion between Catherine and Heathcliff. The problem is not Kay Adshead, who I think is the best Catherine I’ve seen—she depicts the selfishness, the wayward personality and fiery temper of Catherine, but she also has charm—you can see why Heathcliff is obsessed with her and you can see why Edgar Linton is drawn to her wild, intense personality. But Ken Hutchison is not quite Heathcliff. He rants, he screams, but I don’t quite see the passion from inside. I don’t see any chemistry between him and Catherine. I don’t see what Catherine and Isabella see in him. Wuthering Heights may be a story of abuse and hate, but the love story between Heathcliff and Catherine is important—even if it’s a tortured, obsessive, and destructive kind of love that destroys everything in its path, there is love—we need to see that love, that passion between Heathcliff and Catherine, and I think the series doesn’t show that. And it’s not just Catherine. To put it perhaps a bit crudely, Heathcliff should be hot—he is savage, vengeful, a monster even, but he should be hot—Catherine may think “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”, but Isabella doesn’t have that and we must understand why she is attracted to him, against reason, against Catherine’s warning, against Edgar’s protest. 

But this is why it’s so hard, if not impossible, to adapt Wuthering Heights: filmmakers usually reduce the ruthlessness and viciousness so that Heathcliff can be a romantic figure; the 1978 series swings too far the other way.

As for the rest of the cast, I like Maria Swailes as the young Catherine Earnshaw, David Robb as Edgar, and Caroline Langrishe as Isabella; Pat Heywood is a different interpretation of Nelly Dean, playing her as a good, reliable housekeeper (not quite my interpretation), but she is very good; the only one I really don’t like, apart from Ken Hutchison as Heathcliff, is Richard Kay as Mr Lockwood, who has a melodramatic way of acting that takes me out of the story. 

Is this worth watching? I think it is. You might disagree with my views on Ken Hutchison’s performance, and this is an adaptation that takes seriously the dark and brutal side of the characters. 

The Other Bennet Sister and “diverse casting”

In my previous blog post about the TV series The Other Bennet Sister, I wrote about all the changes made to the characters of Pride and Prejudice, and the resulting loss of subtlety and complexity. Now I’d like to address the racial aspect of the series. 

In The Other Bennet Sister, Mary is the black sheep, the one bullied or at least neglected by everyone else in the family, the one assumed to have no prospects. The optician’s son however takes an interest in her, and asks her to dance with him at the ball, so she does, and she dances with him twice. Charlotte Lucas then tells Mary to be careful: two dances imply liking; the third time is going to be remarked upon. Then Mrs Bennet appears and, displaying a cruelty and harshness not seen in Jane Austen’s character, tells Mary not to dance with or speak to him any longer, as he’s an optician’s son, and an association with someone in trade would ruin the prospects of her sisters. 

The remarkable part here is that we can all see that he’s Indian, but nobody mentions his race, as though class is the only barrier. 

From what I can see, there are other non-white characters in the rest of the series, and this is something we see again and again: Netflix and the BBC and Channel 4 and ITV and other companies randomly cast black and brown people in adaptations of 19th century novels and other period dramas. This has gone on for years and seems to have become standard practice. And I have always disliked it. Why do you assume that I need to see someone “looking like me” represented on the screen? Why do you assume that I need to share the same race or ethnicity as a fictional character in order to find them relatable? Why do you assume that I would relate to a character just because we have the same race? What do I have in common with, for example, the characters in Crazy Rich Asians? Why would I want to see actors of the same ethnicity as me randomly cast in adaptations of classic European novels, like Hong Chau playing Nelly Dean in Wuthering Heights? Do we not have our own stories? Do we not have our own classics? Do production companies not understand how insulting this is? 

More importantly, “diverse casting” in period dramas is a whitewashing of history, as though 19th century Britain had been a colourblind society, as though people of all races back then had been equal, as though racism had never existed. If someone grows up watching these films and TV series—every single one has black and brown people as middle-class and upper-class characters, on equal footing with white characters—that person is going to have a very distorted understanding of the past. Bridgerton may have the excuse that it’s a fantasy world, but what excuses does The Other Bennet Sister have? 

I’m going to note too that this is very different from casting in Shakespeare. My favourite King Lear production has a black Lear (Don Warrington). My favourite version of Coriolanus has a black Coriolanus (David Oyelowo). Shakespeare’s plays are full of artifice—race-bending is no big deal as long as it doesn’t draw attention to itself and the play is taken seriously. But film and TV are supposedly more naturalistic; if it doesn’t present itself as a fantasy world as Bridgerton does (which I have never watched), it would be taken to be meant to be realistic; and the depiction of Britain in the late 18th, early 19th century as a colourblind society is unrealistic. I would even say that the erasure of the racial prejudice of the past—erasure of the experiences of victims of racism—is a racist lie. 

Unfortunately I seem to be the only one having these opinions. 

Why I stopped watching The Other Bennet Sister

With apologies to Aled, my former classmate who’s in the cast.  

When I first heard there was going to be a TV adaptation of The Other Bennet Sister, a Pride and Prejudice spin-off, I already had apprehensions: it’s about Mary, the most boring of the Bennet sisters. This is how Jane Austen describes her: 

“… After a song or two, and before [Elizabeth] could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well…” (ch.6) 

But Janice Hadlow wrote a novel focusing on her, so I thought maybe something interesting could be done about the character of Mary: she’s the only plain one in the family; she’s the odd one out between two pairs of sisters (Jane – Elizabeth and Kitty – Lydia). 

In the end, I only watched 2 (out of 10 episodes). The Other Bennet Sister, I think, has 3 main problems. 

First of all, in Pride and Prejudice, Mary’s not only plain and boring, but also conceited, priggish, and rather oblivious; in the series The Other Bennet Sister (I haven’t read the book), Mary is bookish, socially awkward, more likeable than Jane Austen’s character, and constantly bullied by her own family. At the beginning, it feels as though they want to turn her into Fanny Price. Almost everyone in the series—at least in the first 2 episodes—is mean-spirited: everyone makes fun of Mary; Mrs Bennet treats her cruelly and constantly puts her down; Caroline Bingley mocks her before others, in a way that a genteel woman would not; Charlotte Lucas, now her friend instead of Elizabeth’s, becomes two-faced and “steals” Mr Collins behind her back; even Elizabeth, who in Jane Austen’s novel only looks at Mr Bennet when Mary embarrasses herself in public, now insensitively says to Mr Bennet “Papa, this has gone too far, and if you don’t step in, I will” when Mary can see her. All these characters are changed beyond recognition. Even if we pretend that The Other Bennet Sister is its own universe and separate from Pride and Prejudice—ignoring that the series passes over most plot points of Jane Austen’s novel, expecting the audience to be familiar with the story—the changes are terrible because they make the characters one-dimensional and extremely unpleasant. Elizabeth, described several times as quick-witted, here displays no wit. 

As the characters are all one-dimensional—Mrs Bennet especially is not only annoying but cruel and obnoxious—the series feels one-note. Perhaps it’s going to improve from the third episode, but I’m not interested enough to continue. 

Not only so, the series constantly gets on my nerves as it’s written by people—native speakers—who don’t know proper English. The Other Bennet Sister portrays Mary Bennet as an awkward, pedantic girl who corrects a guy during a dance for saying “less” when he should say “fewer”, and yet Mary says “My mother is concerned for my sisters and I.” These errors take me out of the story. 

(I’m not even going to talk about the racial aspect of the casting). 

Now some of you might say I should not dismiss a whole series after watching only 1/5 of it and perhaps it would get better, but I’m going to say that the first 2 episodes (at least) are very crude and very silly. Not a fan. 

Some further thoughts on the Oscars

Last night I watched the Oscars. Why did I do that to myself?, some of you might ask. I don’t know. Some of the wins were shocking.

I suppose it says something about the Oscars—and Hollywood as a whole—that a film such as Sinners is so celebrated, with 16 nominations and 4 wins. But unlike many people on the internet, I don’t think it’s entirely political—Sinners is popular, and that popularity is revealing about the lack of discernment among the audience, among people in the film industry and in film criticism. One may argue that the Oscar for Best Cinematography going to Sinners is political—Train Dreams has much better visual storytelling, much more interesting framing, much more memorable shots—but Autumn Durald Arkapaw became the first female cinematographer to win an Oscar. One may argue that the Best Actor award for Michael B. Jordan is political, as he’s the weakest of the five nominees—the other four are all better, Timothée Chalamet in Marty Supreme and Ethan Hawke in Blue Moon especially carry the whole film. But Sinners *is* popular. I can see the hype online. I can see that lots of people don’t seem to notice that it’s a stupid film, a complete mess in which the director constantly spoonfeeds the audience. I can see lots of people go mad over Michael B. Jordan’s performance as the twins, sounding like they have only watched five films their whole lives and the other four are Marvel. It’s nonsensical that the Oscar for Best Actor is awarded to Michael B. Jordan instead of Ethan Hawke, Timothée Chalamet, or Wagner Moura. It’s even more laughable that the award for Best Original Screenplay goes to Sinners instead of Sentimental Value or Blue Moon.  

These choices are as ridiculous as the Best Picture for The Shape of Water, Best Cinematography for Mank, and Best Editing for Bohemian Rhapsody. Does anyone take the Oscars seriously?

I also don’t like One Battle After Another, the one that won Best Picture (though of course I was relieved it didn’t go to goddamn Sinners). This has been a strong year (especially compared to last year and the year of Everything Everywhere All at Once), but the great films of 2025 are Train Dreams and Sentimental Value; you could also make the case for The Secret Agent, an engrossing film that constantly changes directions and defies our expectations. One Battle After Another is a fun, well-crafted film but it’s essentially empty and forgettable—it doesn’t have the depth or complexity of Paul Thomas Anderson’s best films, Phantom Thread and There Will Be Blood. 

(I suppose I don’t particularly mind that Paul Thomas Anderson won Best Directing for One Battle After Another—it is a well-directed film—it just feels like the voters decided it was time for him to finally get an Oscar after so many nominations, the same way Martin Scorsese made many great films only to win for The Departed). 

I guess it’s on me, to pay attention to the Oscars. What a joke. 

PS: My friend Himadri, who lives in the past and generally doesn’t like today’s films, has just watched and thought highly of Train Dreams. 

PPS: The ceremony was all right. Conan O’Brien was quite a funny host—my favourite part was his joke at the very end, after the last announcement. The worst part was Javier Bardem—now that gave me second-hand embarrassment. 

Oscars 2026 [updated]

I guess my interest in the Oscars waxes and wanes.

Even now, I have seen only 2 of the 10 films nominated for Best Picture last year, and have little inclination to see the rest any time soon. This time the nominees are better. 

This is possibly how I would rank them: 

Train Dreams: visually interesting, poetic, and moving. This is a great film about an ordinary man, about life and loss, about grief. Probably not the kind of films that would win an Oscar for Best Picture—it’s quiet and subtle—but Adolpho Veloso should win Best Cinematography. Can I hope? I still can’t believe that Best Cinematography went to Roma and Mank. 

Sentimental Value: possibly a tie with Train Dreams. Train Dreams is more visually interesting but Sentimental Value has a more complex narrative—it’s about life and art, about a man’s estranged relationship with his two daughters, about his attempt to reconcile with them and create together a personal film. Joachim Trier gets us to see, more or less, the lives of four characters—the father/ film director, the two daughters, and the actress—and the film has quite a few strong performances, particularly Renate Reinsve and Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas. The Oscar for Best International Feature Film might end up going to The Voice of Hind Rajab (for political reasons), but I would be happy if Sentimental Value wins. 

The Secret Agent: this is in a way a messy film—where is the story going?—but it’s constantly changing and the messiness is part of the charm. Amusingly, the most bizarre—even surreal—part of the film is based on a real thing in Brazilian history. The only thing I don’t like about it is the gore. If Best International Feature Film doesn’t go to Sentimental Value, which I think is a more sophisticated film, I wouldn’t mind if it goes to The Secret Agent. 

Blue Moon: this one is not nominated for Best Picture, but for Best Original Screenplay and Best Actor. Visually there isn’t much; it’s a dialogue-driven film. Part of my fondness for it is because I love the song “Blue Moon” (who doesn’t?) and Lorenz Hart—at least the Lorenz Hart in the film—loves Casablanca. If Sentimental Value doesn’t win Best Original Screenplay, I would be happy if it goes to Blue Moon.  

Marty Supreme: I know everyone finds Timothée Chalamet irritating now, but I’m sorry to say that he is good in Marty Supreme—he carries the whole film. The strongest performances this year are possibly Ethan Hawke and Timothée Chalamet, though they’re nowhere near the same level as Anthony Hopkins in The Father—if we’re talking about the past 10 years—and Wagner Moura and Leonardo DiCaprio are also very good (I don’t mind anyone winning as long as it’s not Michael B. Jordan). The film as a whole is all right. 

F1: this is a formulaic film, not as good as Ford v Ferrari, and not the kind of things one watches more than once. But I place it above Sinners and Bugonia because it’s well-paced, coherent, and entertaining. 

Sinners: you don’t even have to watch Sinners to know it doesn’t deserve 16 Oscar nominations—more than anything else in history. I loved the music, I enjoyed some individual sequences, I liked the first 40 minutes (the film is 2 hours 17 minutes), but it’s a mess of a film. Some people are going to get offended, but I would say that Sentimental Value and Train Dreams are films for adults and Sinners is a film for children, not because it has vampires but because Ryan Coogler constantly spoonfeeds the audience with exposition and unnecessary flashbacks, and because the film pretends to be deep and serious by bringing in the race issue and creating a forced metaphor. The only Oscars it deserves to win are for Original Score, Original Song, maybe Makeup and Hairstyling, maybe Visual Effects. The reason the messiness of The Secret Agent works but Sinners doesn’t is that The Secret Agent constantly changes direction and yet there’s a centre (the main character), whereas Sinners confusingly moves between the black-gangsters-opening-a-juke-joint plot, the vampire plot, and the KKK plot. 

One Battle After Another: I don’t dislike it the way I dislike Sinners, but my problem with One Battle After Another is that I don’t really know what it’s doing and what it’s meant to say. Why does it get 13 nominations? I have no idea. The only thing I’d like it to win is Best Actor in a Supporting Role for Sean Penn, who is the best part of the film (though I dislike him personally). The second best part of the film is the road—and the chasing scene—that is the Best Road in Cinema. 

Bugonia: my problem with Bugonia, as with other films by Yorgos Lanthimos (especially Poor Things), is that he has style and I was (more or less) enjoying it whilst watching, but came to dislike its vision and ideas after thinking about it. This is a film of a misanthrope. One positive thing I can say is that I generally don’t like Emma Stone as an actress, but she’s good in this one. Do I think she’s going to win an Oscar? No, my guess is that Best Actress will go to Jessie Buckley, but I’ve only seen 2 of the nominated performances.  

Frankenstein: there isn’t much I can say about it, as I only lasted about 30 minutes. All I’m going to say is that Guillermo del Toro is one of the worst directors working today and I still think it’s a joke that The Shape of Water won Best Picture several years ago. 

Not ranked: 

Hamnet: I haven’t seen it, as I’ve got the impression it’s made for a certain kind of audience that doesn’t include me. Judging by conversations online, I suppose Jessie Buckley is going to win an Oscar for Best Actress. 

Update on 15/3:

Best Actor: 

My wish: Ethan Hawke in Blue Moon or Timothée Chalamet in Marty Supreme 

My prediction: Wagner Moura in The Secret Agent

Winner: Michael B. Jordan in Sinners

Best Supporting Actor:

My wish: Sean Penn in One Battle After Another

My prediction: Sean Penn in One Battle After Another

Winner: Sean Penn in One Battle After Another

Best Actress: 

My wish: None 

My prediction: Jessie Buckley in Hamnet 

Winner: Jessie Buckley in Hamnet 

Best Supporting Actress:

My wish: Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas in Sentimental Value 

My prediction: Wunmi Mosaku in Sinners 

Winner: Amy Madigan in Weapons 

Best Cinematography: 

My wish: Adolpho Veloso for Train Dreams 

My prediction: Adolpho Veloso for Train Dreams

Winner: Autumn Durald Arkapaw for Sinners

Best Editing: 

My wish: None 

My prediction: Stephen Mirrione for F1 or Andy Jurgensen for One Battle After Another 

Winner: Andy Jurgensen for One Battle After Another 

Best Original Song: 

My wish: Sinners

My prediction: Sinners

Winner: KPop Demon Hunters

Best Score: 

My wish: Sinners

My prediction: Sinners

Winner: Sinners

Best Original Screenplay: 

My wish: Sentimental Value 

My prediction: Marty Supreme 

Winner: Sinners

Best Adapted Screenplay: 

My wish: None 

My prediction: Hamnet 

Winner: One Battle After Another 

Best International Film: 

My wish: Sentimental Value

My prediction: The Secret Agent

Winner: Sentimental Value

Best Director: 

My wish: Joachim Trier for Sentimental Value 

My prediction: Paul Thomas Anderson for One Battle After Another 

Winner: Paul Thomas Anderson for One Battle After Another 

Best Picture: 

My wish: Train Dreams or Sentimental Value 

My prediction: One Battle After Another 

Winner: One Battle After Another 

Generally speaking, I think the films that dominate the Oscars this year are going to be One Battle After Another and then Sinners. 

On Emma (2009), starring Romola Garai [updated]

 

Why do we—I mean I—keep watching different adaptations of the same novel? 

Yesterday I saw the 2009 Emma, which is the 4th version I’ve now seen of Jane Austen’s novel, after Gwyneth Paltrow (1996), Kate Beckinsale (1996), and Anya Taylor-Joy (2020). Or the 5th, if you count Clueless (1995). 

(I mention the years so you can see the Emma craze from 1995-1996—I don’t know why though). 

At the moment, I’m not quite sure if my favourite is the Kate Beckinsale version, or the 2009 one with Romola Garai, by which I mean that both are very good, but neither have the perfection, the this-is-obviously-the-best-ness of the 1995 Pride and Prejudice. 

Let’s start with what I like about the 2009 series. Consisting of 4 episodes, it’s the longest of the versions I’ve seen: it has time to develop the story, to show the glances and half-smiles and secret looks, to let us see Emma change over time. It looks good: well-framed, well-lit, showing the beautiful English countryside. Some of the supporting performances are excellent, especially Blake Ritson as the good-looking but oily, mercenary, small-minded Mr Elton, and Rupert Evans as the self-centred, thoughtless, but charming Frank Churchill. I also like that Harriet Smith is not turned into a goofy and ridiculous character, as done in some other adaptations: portrayed by Louise Dylan, she is simple, impressionable, not very bright; but there’s a gentleness and timidity about her that makes Emma, Robert Martin, and others love her. Most importantly, Jonny Lee Miller is a very good Mr Knightley, and there’s great chemistry between him and Romola Garai. The 1996 TV movie depicts accurately the age gap from the novel, but Kate Beckinsale and Mark Strong have less chemistry, and I think it’s better when Mr Knightley can be seen as a romantic interest— he may be 16 years older, he may scold her and lecture her, they may be old friends, but there must be something that convinces us about the transformation of their life-long friendship into romantic love, something that makes us rejoice in their realisation and their happy ending—Romola Garai and Jonny Lee Miller have it, and make me realise that it’s not quite there between Mark Strong and Kate Beckinsale.

In many ways, it is a good adaptation, and I do like the way the series emphasises Emma’s loneliness and listlessness after her sister and then her governess gets married, leaving her alone with her father, without a female companion, without guidance, without something to do. 

But there are certain things that don’t work quite so well. For some reasons, Sandy Welch (the screenwriter) and Jim O’Hanlon (the director) tone down some of the characters: Mr Woodhouse is less tiresome and ridiculous; Miss Bates is less garrulous and exasperating; Mrs Elton is still self-centred and annoying but less vulgar, less crass, and actually quite physically attractive. These changes—when I think about them—affect how we see Emma. And that leads to the most important question: how is Romola Garai’s performance as Emma? In some ways, she’s a very good Emma: Emma meddles with people’s lives and messes many things up, but Romola Garai has that charm, that innocence and pure-heartedness of Jane Austen’s character, whereas Gwyneth Paltrow or Anya Taylor-Joy can come across as catty, disdainful, even fake, and extremely unlikeable. But Romola Garai plays Emma as animated, high-spirited, almost like a teen girl—perhaps almost like a modern teen girl—I prefer the elegance of Kate Beckinsale, and her approach to the character. 

What do you think?  

Addendum: I forgot to mention that during holiday, I watched When Harry Met Sally for the first time. What a wonderful, delightful film! The characters are all different, but I thought about When Harry Met Sally as I watched the close friendship between Emma and Mr Knightley turn into romantic love. 

On Odissea (1968), an 8-part adaptation of the Odyssey

 

Over Christmas, my family and I watched Odissea, an Italian-language adaptation of the Odyssey in 8 episodes—not a Christmas series, I know—but what can be more Christmassy than returning home and reuniting with your family? 

According to Wikipedia, this is the most faithful version. It’s also my favourite adaptation so far, unlikely to get surpassed. Now some of you might think, is it going to be the most epic, spectacular version you’ve seen of Homer’s poem? The answer is no. But it is made by people who respect the text, and have a deep understanding of it. 

If we have to narrow down to the three main things that the Odyssey is about, I would say: the intelligence of Odysseus and his development as a character, the relationship between Odysseus and Penelope, and the education of Telemakhos. Odissea gets all three right. Most adaptations, because of time, tend to ignore the last one, but it is important in the Odyssey—why does Athena make Telemakhos travel if he learns no news of Odysseus and the trip doesn’t advance the plot?—it’s for his education, for him to learn about the father he has never known, and see how things work in a happy kingdom not torn apart by greedy suitors and disloyal servants. He also learns to be independent, away from his mother, away from home. Renaud Verley conveys well the helpless anger of Telemakhos at the beginning, and the confidence towards the end as Telemakhos fights the suitors next to his father. 

The development of Odysseus is also good, largely thanks to the performance of Bekim Fehmiu. At the beginning, he doesn’t express much on his face, making me afraid that he looks the part but isn’t quite right for the role, but this is a cautious Odysseus, a weary Odysseus, wanting nothing but to go home after 10 years of wandering and suffering. We see a different Odysseus in the flashbacks—more animated—especially in the episode of the Cyclops: a cunning Odysseus, a proud and impetuous Odysseus, causing his own downfall and the loss of his men. We see that cunning look again when he’s back in Ithake, as he watches his household and observes the enemies and calculates his moves. 

I also like Irene Papas (a Greek actress) as Penelope. Odissea makes more explicit Penelope’s recognition of Odysseus under disguise, and her test of him at the end—I slightly prefer the subtlety of Homer—but Irene Papas is so good in these scenes that it doesn’t matter. I especially like her anger as she comes to meet Odysseus after the killing of the suitors—this is something I have not considered—she has waited for 20 years, she has stayed true, but Odysseus saw her with distrust and hid from her his identity?

Among the supporting characters, I think the best cast are Constantin Nepo as Antinous and Karl-Otto Alberty as Eurymakhos. My only complaint, if anything, is that I don’t particularly like Scilla Gabel as Helen, and I wish they had done something to make Kalypso (Kyra Bester) look a bit “less human”, being a nymph, but this is trivial.  

I suspect that Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of the Odyssey is going to be similar to Bondarchuk’s adaption of War and Peace—spectacular and technically impressive, but hollow—and even worse, as it’s historically inaccurate. Odissea is similar to the 1972 War and Peace or the 1977 Anna Karenina—not the best production values perhaps, but an excellent adaptation. 

Odissea is available on Youtube (if you don’t mind the subtitles being imperfect). 

On Ulysses (1954), an Italian adaptation of the Odyssey

Filmmakers all have to make changes when adapting a literary work, which sometimes works very well, but in the case of Ulysses (1954), pretty much every single change makes the narrative worse. 

One big change is that they reduce the role of the gods. But instead of pushing it to the extreme, as in The Return (2024), removing the gods altogether and stripping the Odyssey of all mythology, Ulysses makes a half-arsed attempt: Circe (Kirke) is still there, combined with Calypso; Ulysses (Odysseus) still speaks to the dead; we still see the Cyclops; but we don’t see Athena and we don’t see Polyphemus cursing Ulysses and his men and calling for their destruction. The very thing that causes the 10 years of wandering and all the lives lost is cut; the curse instead comes from Cassandra during the war, when Ulysses destroys a statue of Poseidon. 

Another change is that Ulysses in the film is no longer a storyteller: the flashbacks are him recalling past events—regaining his memory—rather than telling King Alcinous about his adventures; and we don’t see him making up stories upon his return to Ithaca (Ithake). 

But the biggest and worst change is the way they handle the last few chapters of Homer’s poem: even if you don’t agree with my interpretation that Penelope long suspects the identity of the beggar, does a kind of double talk with him so as to keep the secret from her spying servants, and comes up with the test of the bow as a convenient way of placing a weapon in his hands, you would probably still find it disappointing that in the film, the idea of the bow comes from Ulysses—in his disguise as a beggar—rather than Penelope herself. Why is Homer’s Odysseus so desperate to return home, to reunite with Penelope? Why does he reject the power of Kirke and the promise of immortality from Kalypso and the youth of Nausicaa? Because Odysseus and Penelope are a perfect match, because they’re both intelligent and full of tricks—their like-mindedness is an important point in the Odyssey—the Penelope in the film has the loyalty and constancy of Homer’s character, but not her cleverness (except the weaving trick). The film cannot explain why he longs for her, especially when they have Penelope and Circe played by the same actress (Silvana Mangano).

Another important point is that in the Odyssey, Odysseus and Penelope test each other—Odysseus has to test her because of the warning from Agamemnon, but she also has to test him—all that is removed from the film. We don’t even see Ulysses quietly go around and observe who remains loyal and who has betrayed him in his household. 

The film seems to focus on the fun scenes, and in a way, it is fun. Kirk Douglas is a more energetic and charming Odysseus/ Ulysses than Ralph Fiennes—not because Ralph Fiennes lacks charm, but because he plays Odysseus as a weary man, haunted by war—the bow scene is especially fun. Another positive thing I can say is that, compared to the grey and drab look of Christopher Nolan’s upcoming film, the costumes here are more interesting, more colourful and imaginative.  

Oh well. I don’t expect Nolan’s film to be any better. 

Anyway.