eat, pray, love, read, watch
I went to see Eat Pray Love yesterday. I’d read a review that made me a bit hesitant to spend my money on it, but it was hot out, the theater was air conditioned, and my husband had actually offered to accompany me to a chick flick (I now owe him one action movie). Unfortunately, the review I read was spot on. It had most of the plot points in order, but very little of the book’s emotional core.
But I’m not here to quibble about the movie’s faults and merits. Instead of spending the film wondering what the movie company had done to Liz Gilbert’s book (though I did spend a fair amount of time whispering my editorials to my husband, who had no idea what I was talking about), what mostly struck me was: What did they do to her life?
It’s hard enough for me to imagine my life story in print, selling millions of copies the way Liz Gilbert’s did. It’s even harder for me to imagine sitting in a movie theater, with Julia Roberts up on screen (or, if I’m imagining it’s me, maybe Ginnifer Goodwin or Maggie Gyllenhaal?), play-acting events that really changed my life. I would have to watch it–the whole train wreck effect–but how would I feel? The mind begins to boggle.
At the last Get Lit! festival in Spokane, I attended a panel where authors and screenwriters spoke about translating novels into film. The consensus seemed to be that authors had to separate themselves from the filmed product, release control, and thus release themselves from responsibility for what came out in theaters. But what about memoir? Can you really separate yourself from your life? And if you do, how does that affect the way you feel about your own memories? Do your experiences lose their impact when they run through so many filters?
So it seems like you were disappointed in the movie, but for someone who hasn’t read the book, would you recommend it?
I don’t know–it felt really lacking in emotion to me, but I’m not sure if it felt that way because the book had so much more oomph. If you like Julia Roberts and you like beautiful scenery, there’s definitely enjoyment to be had. But I would probably recommend that you wait until it’s available on Netflix.
According to the Rolling Stone review (http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/reviews/17388/190684), the movie made Peter Travers want to starve curse hate (which, incidentally, is also a book: http://www.amazon.com/Hate-Starve-Curse-Disagreeable-Everythingness/dp/0981873804/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1281921582&sr=8-2).
I didn’t make it more than five pages into the book, because it read more like a quest for love than one for spirituality. And I wasn’t planning on seeing the movie. But I do think that the marketing of it is amazing.
Hollywood isn’t trying to make a good movie with this one–they’re trying to keep the business afloat through merch sales. That’s why they hooked up with the Home Shopping Network (with a 90 million woman viewer base, that’s a pocket of consumers more tap-able than teens) to make all the housewares, clothes, jewelry, etc. There can’t be highs and lows in the film because it’s basically a commercial–Julia Roberts has to enjoy these products for all 120 minutes of the infomercial or the audience won’t buy them…
So, yeah, Netflix it. Or just wait for that midnight showing of Shamwow to come on.
And yet, despite its QVC-type appeal, this movie didn’t make me really want anything the way the book did. The book–which I resisted reading for about two years before I felt I needed a nice, comfy read–made me want to eat lots of pasta and do lots of yoga and see lovely places. The movie didn’t inspire me–and I am highly susceptible to inspirational, feel-good movies (I’m embarrassed to admit this, but Mamma Mia is one of my favorites, alongside Julie & Julia, Stranger than Fiction, and About a Boy). Maybe I’m just getting better at resisting advertisement.
As Amaris noted, the purpose of the movie was different than the purpose of the book. Presumably when Ms. Gilbert set out to write, she wrote with the intention of sharing her story and potentially influencing people in some way. The goal of the film’s producers is not to tell Gilbert’s story, but to tell their own story so that people will watch the movie and buy other things. So I think the separation from one’s life doesn’t happen in oneself, but through the introduction of outside decision-makers in the process. Gilbert’s life was essentially taken out of her hands and turned into another Gilbert’s life for the sake of the screen.
Not that I read the book or saw the film. I just like the sound of my own keyboard.