Recently, I’ve read a couple of screenplays based on novels, and with this albeit low number of examples, let me start by saying thank goodness I have yet to find a book I wish to adapt for screen. The process, it would seem, is tedious and fraught with perils.
Odds are, especially if you are just starting out as a writer, you’ve chosen to adapt a specific book because you love it.
You love the way it is written. You love the story it tells. You love the characters. You may even love the paper on which it’s printed or its cover art.
Congratulations. You’re doomed.
I say this not to be mean but to point out that the book was written as a book for very specific reasons. The format and structure of a novel is incredibly different from that of a film.
At its simplest, you have the space in a novel to indulge yourself in narrative and character introspection. More simply put, you can describe a setting or reaction in such detail that if linearly translated to a screenplay, it would result in ten minutes of film focused exclusively on waves rolling across a beach or on the angle of an eyebrow raised over the left eye of your heroine.
Even simpler, novels are verbal, ironically, while films are visual.
And unless you’re planning on running a voice over throughout your movie—please say no—I have no idea what your characters are thinking. I can try to guess from their facial expressions, but it is a guess and will have as much to do with how easy it was to find a parking place in the megaplex as it does with the actor’s talent.
The novel could afford to be 500 or 1000 pages. Your screenplay can’t.
I love Kenneth Branagh. I love Shakespeare. Branagh did a very linear interpretation of Hamlet for film. I was bored. Mel Gibson’s Hamlet? Held my attention and was entertaining. [Compare the two “alas, poor Yorick” scenes linked here.]
The difference? A very sharp editorial knife.
So, I am going to ask you to take the thing you love and hack it. Cut it with broad strokes and wild abandon. This is no place for finesse.
This isn’t about trimming paragraphs. It is about slashing subplots or entire chapters. It is about burning away all of the decorative niceties until you reach the essence that turns your crank.
Be cruel. Be ruthless. Be honest.
Take that Sistine Chapel and reduce it to the handful of bricks that make you sweaty; that keep you coming back time after time.
It will feel like murder. In some ways, it is. But it’s murder for the greater good, because once you’ve hit that core, you can begin to rebuild. You can start to rescue some of the elements you set aside earlier or add new ones that are truly unique to your vision.
What is that core? I don’t know. That’s for you to decide.
Maybe it was the setting. Perhaps it was the relationship between two characters.
Whatever it is, find it and make that your story. That is what you love. That is why you keep coming back for more.
Honour that and you’ll have a screenplay worth turning into a movie.
(Image is property of owner and is used here without permission. I’m adaptable that way.)