Thursday, July 14, 2005

It's been a while, have you missed me?

The shoes I am wearing today are something else. Beautiful baby pink pointy-toe sling backs with not so much a kitten heel as a cat heel. The Ginas are with me, waiting to be taken home and worn to the graduation tomorrow!

But enough of my classy footwear. I have finally found the time, and the inclination to write my last entry in the room 101 section.

I was going through my book shelf the other day and I stumbled upon two old favourites which I haven't read for a while. The First was Captain Corelli's mandolin and the second was Charlotte Grey. Everything about these books was fantastic - the characters were so beautifully described and real, they could have been people you knew. The stories were gripping and unpredictable. Indeed with both, there was the bitter-sweet yet strangely satisfying ending which allowed you to believe that it could have been a true story, because they don't end with big loves and butterflies and whatever else people in love have. The language used, particularly in Mandolin is so rich and detailed, Delia Smith could use it in the Summer Collection.

Another thing these two books have in common is that films were made from them. Or maybe, bits of them. That is what I wanted to put into Room 101.


How can it be that after all that happened on the Island of Kefalonia, they would end happily ever after? Why does it have to end happily ever after - these people met during war time and the ending illustrates how people can get things wrong through assumptions and appearances, rather than trying to find out the truth. Charlotte Grey went to France to find her boyfriend, she didn't just fancy a jolly to the war torn area and whilst she was there pick up some french cheese and some lovely fruit covered tarts. And she certainly didn't risk everything for love to run off with some communist! Why do Hollywood film producers think that everything has to end happily ever after? Surely it's more satisfying to know that Charlotte went back to her boyfriend whom she risked so much for, and settle for a quiet life in Britain than some stupid affaire which you just know was going to end with some slutty blonde and a haystack.

Hollywood, these books are best sellers for a reason. If you tell us that the films are adaptations of the books, then don't give us a sugar-coated 'we wish this had happened' version. Life isn't like the movies, but sometimes it is like the books.

1 comment:

Moist y-fronts said...

Firmly applaud Trixy's sentiments, voiced in terms of the film industry's obsession with making even the most terminal patient walk. Personally its the Jack Nicholson and Diane Keating school of films that are rank - he's a bit grumy, she's a bit kooky but you know that after several false starts, some longing eye shots and a few rows they will be collapsing into each others arms like Elizabeth Bennett after Mr D'Arcy slipped rohypnol into her punch...