Lets roll out the new from last night, first. It was “I’m Off Night,” last night, because after dinner and a little shopping I had zero creative energy to sit and do anything. I knew what I wanted to write, but after a good hour of looking at the story, I finally said, “I think I’ll just sit and relax,” and did that until I started falling asleep at ten PM. It’s not a bad thing: sometimes you need to recharge your batteries, and if that means a night off, then take it. I don’t have anything to do today, so it’s a good time to make up for last night’s lost time.
So what I’m going to talk about today is something completely different, and in the process of this discussion I’m going to bring up some things about a rather well known television show about zombies where no one ever says the word zombie. There will be times when I’m gonna go all Ms. Spoilly McSpoil, so if you don’t want to read something that’s going to cause you to shake your fist at your computer screen while you scream, “Curse you, Cassie!” through clenched teeth, then read a book, listen to music, or watch some good movies–TCM will show Bonnie and Clyde, Jaws, and Alien back-to-back tonight, so you might want to keep that block open.
I have given warning–you know–
There’s a meme that’s been rolling around Facebook of late, one that doesn’t actually involve some kid getting picked up for a DUI in Miami. No, this is a picture of a huge iceberg, floating peacefully along while waiting for a ship to smack into it. As you know an iceberg is pretty much under the water, a huge thing you never see, which is probably good because you’d likely get hypothermia swimming around trying to get a look-see.
The part above the water–the small part–is labeled “Movie”, while the part below the waterline is labeled “Novel”. You know what they’re trying to say: the parts you see in a movie are only a small part of the story that’s adapted from a novel–if, of course, the movie is adapted from a novel, and it’s not an original tale.
But this is often true. One could point to any of the biggest movies of late–the Harry Potter films, the Lord of the Rings, the Hunger Games–had to leave out a lot of the story to get the tale up on the screen. For some tales you need to do a four or five hour flick if you want to get everything on the screen–or do as was done with The Godfather, which took the early life of Vito Corleone and worked it up as a flash back around original material. And in doing this, they still left out a lot of the story. (Maybe due to threats of a lawsuit by a certain Italian-American singer and actor who’d won an Oscar who didn’t like a character in the novel who was Italian-American singer and actor who ended up winning an Oscar, all with a little help from his godfather. Purely a coincidence, I’m sure.)
When you translate a novel to television, however, you are allowed a little more leeway, because you have, if you’re lucky, more time to develop your story. Rich Man, Poor Man was a good example of the early television mini-series, where you could take your time moving as much of the story from the page to the screen, and stay true to the material. Yes, some things don’t get translated well–maybe due to things that are going on inside a person’s head, or, depending on the times, there are things in the story that violate a network’s “standards and practices,” which is a fancy way of saying you’ll never get a particular scene past the censors.
This is pretty much alleviated by the advent of premium cable these days, where one can pretty much get away with showing so much that the joke has become, “It’s not porn, it’s HBO.” Yes, there are some things that HBO won’t show–in A Song of Ice and Fire our lovable Mother of Dragons was more like I’m Just Barely a Teen Mommy of Dragons, so she was aged up just a little for Game of Thrones. And by “just a little,” I mean she could have appeared on 16 and Pregnant–with DRAGONS! Which is a reality show I’d watch . . .
Basic cable has gotten into the act as well. Breaking Bad was a true gem of drama, with a story and characters that was at both times compelling and revolting. This was, however, an original show, and the story could develop as slowly and fully as the creator/producer liked. And that brings us to the real iceberg of this tale, The Walking Dead.
At the moment the AMC show is three-and-a-half seasons into a four season run, with a fifth promised. It’s done very well in ratings and has a loyal, sometimes fanatical following, but that’s to be expected with any fandom. The show follows this guy, Sheriff Rick Grimes, who wakes up from a gun shot-induced coma and discovers that, no, he’s not in Indiana, he’s in the middle of the Zombie Apocalypsetm, his family is missing, and everything he’s known has gone straight to hell. In the process of the first episodes he finds his family, a group of survivors, and most of all his best-I-left-you-for-dead-and-I’m-bangin’-your-wife-friend and former partner from the force, Shane.
The show has followed the meta plot pretty closely: they find Atlanta messed up, they find Hershel’s Farm, they find The Prison, they find The Governor, they fight The Governor, they lose the Prison, and as of right now they’re On The Road looked for each other and safe harbor. Since it’s been stated they run into the traveling trio of Abraham Ford, Rosita Espinosa, and mullet-sporting Eugene Porter, the metaplot will have them heading northward to the Alexandra Safe-Zone, where life won’t exactly become any easier for them.
I’ve only watched the show off and on throughout the years. I usually haven’t had the time to watch the show, though these days I find there is more time in The Burg for relaxing, so I have watched episodes off and on. I’ve also been an off-and-on fan of the comic, which has run since October, 2003, and is now up to Issue 120, with a confirmation of printing through Issue 132.
In terms of iceberging, this story is the perfect iceberg. There is so much that has been set by the wayside in order to get the story on the screen. About half of the Prison story was removed, for example, which could have been an entire season in of itself–instead of, say, a whole season of hanging out on The Farm. That season could have seen Hershel losing two of his kids to his zombie kid in the barn, Tyreese’s daughter and boyfriend messing up their suicide pack, the beheading of Hershel’s twin daughters by crazy prisoners, Tyreese giving Rick a beatdown and throwing him off a second-story walkway, Carol deciding to do Death By Walker–
Like I said, there were a lot changed to move the story from the comic to the small screen. For one, they got rid of a few characters: Hershel had a huge family, and he pretty much gets to watch six of them die almost right before his eyes–the last one, his son Billy, does when he takes a bullet to the head during the Woodbury assault on the prison. There are a few prisoners who make it as far at the Woodbury assault but no further, and one of two Woodbury defectors also meet their end at that point as well. Dale–he of the famous show’s Dale Face–survives well beyond the Woodbury assault, only to be eaten by cannibals while on the road to Washington, D.C.. He is also the one who loses a leg, but since Dale was long-gone by the time of the show’s Prison Time, that leg bite went to Hershel.
Oh, and the Show Rick swears a lot less than that Comic Rick, but that’s because It’s Not HBO, It’s AMC, and while the show may be able to get away with a “shit” and “asshole” now and then, having Rick throw out the word “fucker” every so often wouldn’t go over well, and tell Michonne and Tyreese that the Woodbury folks “have fucked with the wrong people!” is pretty much HBO fodder. And there’s a few sex scenes, because even when you’re surrounded by the undead, there’s always a moment for sexy time, right?
And then there is Lori.
If there is a part of this ‘Berg I find way the hell off, it’s the way a few of the women are portrayed. In the original story, Lori is concerned, she’s protective of her family, she admits to having had sex once with Shane but no more, she makes it through Judith’s birth, becomes a protective mother–and then dies in about as gruesome a manner as one can imagine. If it’s any consolation, her death–and the death of another–leads to the death of The Governor, but by that time Lori’s a Walker in Training and gives no shits.
The Show Lori, however . . . when your character is made out as the worst thing in a world full of undead looking to eat you and your loved ones twenty-four/seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, until the day you join the shambling herd, there is something seriously off. By the end of Season Two most viewers, given the choice of having their face gnawed off by a hungry Walker, or having Lori ask them if they saw Carl in the house, would say, “Hey, Walker: you want a side salad with my face?” No way was she ever getting Mother of the Year awards, and given the narrowness of that field in the story, it’s a pretty damning indictment for her character.
The same thing was done with Andrea. On the show she was something of an annoying pain in the ass who got separated from the group, was rescued by Michonne, went to Woodbury, hooked up with The Gov, waffled back and forth with the, “Is he good, is he psycho? I can’t kill him, the sex was pretty good,” line, and ultimately ended up dead due to her own kind of stupid.
This is more the way she really was: kicking ass and forgetting the names as soon as they were dispatched. And that scar on her face? That’s from taking a rifle shot to the head, which sort of kinda put her out of action just a little in the final Woodbury assault. But, in the comic story, Andrea’s still alive, still kicking ass, and pretty much Rick’s girlfriend at this point. A lot of her personality in the original story got ported over to Carol, who, on the show, you learned not to be near if you had a bad cough.
I can understand some of the changes that were made: it’s basic cable, you only have so many episodes in a season that can air, you wanna cut through as much of the Peyton Place stuff as possible and stick to the action, and you never know how long your actors can stay with you, so sometimes you kill off ones where they shouldn’t die, and keep around those who should have died because they’re good for the story, which is to say fans like them, and fans equal viewer, so go with that.
That, ultimately, is why you have the iceberg when you translate a story to a screen. Reading is one thing, the visual medium another, and a lot of the people doing the viewing aren’t necessary going to be doing the reading. There are a few exceptions to the rule–Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings instantly spring to mind, as well as a few superhero movies based upon other comics–but in the case of TV, it does seem that you have a lot more people who watch the story, and are surprised as hell when one tells them that what they’re watching was based upon a book, or in the case of TWD, a comic.
It’s an interesting thing to look at from the point of being a writer. I’ve seen more than a few Facebook threads that go, “If your story is made into a movie, who do you want to play your characters?” A better question may be, “If your story is made into a movie or television show, what would you be okay with getting changed or dropped?” After all, your story would end up someone else’s iceberg.
And there’s so much water in which to hide.