When books are turned into films, opinions often clash. Some believe that film reviews shouldn’t discuss the original story, while others argue that staying true to the book is crucial. But here’s the truth: films should be evaluated on their own merits. Sometimes, adaptations can change the original so much that they lose their essence. And when they stumble, it often comes down to the choices made during the adaptation process.
A recent example is “The Thing with Feathers,” a movie based on Max Porter’s acclaimed novel, Grief is the Thing with Feathers. Directed by Dylan Southern, it features Benedict Cumberbatch as a grieving father raising his two young sons while a giant crow looms over them. The book dives deep into the experience of loss, capturing the boys’ perspective as they interact with this mysterious crow. Porter has said that the story is inspired by his own father’s death when he was just six years old.
This story was also adapted into a play in 2019 by Enda Walsh, who is known for his thoughtful adaptations. However, Southern’s film takes a different route, blending horror elements with its narrative. While this might seem like an interesting twist, it can dilute the book’s delicate themes of grief.
Cumberbatch delivers a heartfelt performance, showcasing the struggle of a father who is also a graphic novelist—though he resists that label. As he grapples with his work, the crow, voiced by David Thewlis, adds a layer of tension but also confusion. The crow’s role becomes muddled as it appears more like a random plot device rather than a meaningful part of the story.
Cinematographer Ben Fordesman employs striking visuals, using deep shadows that create a haunting atmosphere. However, the design of the crow leans towards the absurd, drawing comparisons to “The Babadook.” While both films tackle deep emotional themes, “The Babadook” succeeds in illustrating the complexities of mental illness, while this film falls short in clearly defining the crow’s significance.
The original novel’s connection to Ted Hughes’s poetry collection, Crow, provides crucial context that the film neglects. Hughes’s work, shaped by personal tragedy, influences the character’s journey in the book. The father’s scholarly pursuits tie directly into the crow’s haunting presence, enriching the narrative with layers of meaning. Without this backdrop, the crow feels like just another strange visitor in their home.
As we explore these adaptations, it’s evident that understanding the source material deeply enhances the storytelling. For a film about grief, the context and nuances of loss are essential. The crow should symbolize more than just a specter; it should resonate with themes of love, memory, and healing.
In reflecting on viewer reactions, many fans of the book feel disappointed, expressing their frustrations on social media. They highlight the lack of depth and clarity about the crow’s role. This illustrates how critical it is for adaptations to respect their origins while finding a new way to resonate with audiences.
Ultimately, making literary works into films is complex. While creators can take artistic liberties, they must also consider the heart of the story. When films stray too far from their roots, they risk losing the very essence that made the books beloved in the first place.
