Simply put, there is no possible way this movie will do the book justice. I know that's a cliche said about pretty much every cinematic attempt at a book. And usually this cliche is valid. But, I think for this book, the validity of this statement is even more poignant. The things that make this book beautiful: the pictures, the visual dynamics of the text, and the subtle nuances of Oskar Schell's character - are impossible to replicate in a film.
Before I fully launch into my manifesto, let's rewind to the first time I encountered this novel...
Fall, 2008. I had just moved to Boston and begun my time with City Year. While I spent my weekdays at school, I spent my weekends working at Starbucks or wandering aimlessly around Boston. Up until that point, I had spent the majority of my life in the same 50 mile radius in southern New Hampshire. I had always dreamed of living in a city - New York, San Francisco, Seattle? - it didn't matter where. So, as soon as I graduated college, I made that dream come true by moving to Boston.
In those precious hours of free weekend time, I would often end up at the Boston Public Library. This was the typical city library of my dreams - some halls dirty and dingy and with stained carpets, other halls pristine and marble and intricately designed. On one such trip, I stumbled upon the book in question. After reading the first sentence to test out the feel of the book (a trick I learned from a high school English teacher, who stressed the utter importance of that first sentence. Thanks Mr. Dutton!) - I was hooked:
What about a teakettle? What if the spout opened and closed when the steam came out, so it would become a mouth, and it could whistle pretty melodies, or do Shakespeare, or just crack up with me?
These first few sentences tell you all you need to know about Oskar: he is a boy who is deeply sad and probably has Asperger's. I mean, turning a teakettle into a replacement father figure? This is not your average quirky kid. This is a kid who invents elaborate contraptions and gives himself bruises to battle his emotions about what happened to his dad.
Anyway, after finding this book on the shelf, I spent the next couple hours at the library that day, sitting in a sunny spot and falling in love with the character of Oskar Schell. The next day and the next, I read this book on the T as I rode to the school in the morning. I read it during lunch in the teacher's room. This book accompanied me everywhere!
In a way (this is a big stretch), I felt like I could relate to Oskar. He was having an adventure throughout New York City, just as I was having an adventure in Boston. Similarly, after 9/11 happened, Oskar saw his city in a new and potentially ominous light. As someone who grew up around apple orchards and a bunch o' white folk, Boston became my own ominous landscape. I wasn't sure how nervous I should be while riding the T by myself. I clutched my bags and the handrail every time I was on the T. So... Oskar and I, two little people with big imaginations having an even bigger adventure in the city.
The last few pages of this novel are not text, but images. I've never before or since seen images used so effectively in an adult fiction novel. These last couple pictures are simultaneously heartbreaking and uplifting. Simply put, Jonathan Safran Foer used these pictures in an Extremely Clever and Incredibly Imaginative way that will NOT transfer over into the film. There's just no way.
In conclusion to my manifesto: this book made me feel things I didn't know I knew how to feel (the grammar in this sentence is cray-zay!) And the movie makes me angry. And I want to marry JSF.
FIN
Those hands are extremely small...
...and incredibly Photoshopped.
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