High Fidelity
The problem when adapting a tremendously great novel like Nick Hornsby’s High Fidelity is that, well, your movie gets compared to a tremendously great novel like Nick Hornsby’s.
In this case, it’s an especially tough comparison, because the novel is relentlessly introspective, list-obsessed and obsessive compulsive about music in that braggadocio admire-my-eclectic-tastes sort of way.
Now, while a movie can do reasonably well with the music — although this adaptation, strangely, has very little focus on its own soundtrack — it simply can’t compete with a novel for introspection or the endless lists.
Of course, the book doesn’t have great performances by a wonderful array of actors or the genial charm of John Cusack — Rob, in the novel, desperately needs a slap on the back of the head, and not a particularly gentle one, either — but the film ends up feeling like the creators are trying to turn Hornsby’s very mannish novel into a film that fans of Meg Ryan would like, which really sucks a lot of the life out of it.
The film is nice, inoffensively so, and it’s definitely worth watching for Cusack and Cusack and Zeta-Jones and Black. But in the time it took to watch the movie, one could have read most of the (short) novel.
Do yourself a favor and read the novel afterwards if you liked the movie.
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Totally agree, actually. The novel is entirely worth reading, and in a lot of ways, far superior. He’s a lot more of an asshole in the book, and bit more believably one at that. John Cusack is a bit too shiny.
However, I did enjoy the movie quite a bit as well. Just for the simply fact that I *know* those people waaaay too well. The fact that it was filmed in Chicago as well put me in a constant state of deja vu.
Every music obsessed indy guy I know, when asked, always say they’re John Cusack- when they’re more obviously one of the other two.
Comment by Trench — June 18, 2006 @ 9:34