And
here’s one more post about A Single Man,
as long as I still have the book fresh in my memory. This is an instance where
I saw the movie prior to reading the book, and even though it takes some major
liberties, I do continue to love the film – I love both for what they are, what
each brings individually (spoilers for the book and the film, which aren’t
always the same thing!)
I’ve mentioned
before what I regard as the film’s greatest asset: its use of color to create a
visual depiction of George’s depression and grief after the loss of Jim. I love
the way most of the film is shot in a washed-out sepia tone, only letting the
colors shine fully for 1) flashbacks to George’s life with Jim and 2) the
fleeting moments in the present where George makes a brief connection with
someone that cuts through the fog of his melancholy. I put it up there with
Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “Carrion Comfort” as masterfully, genuinely capturing
the sheer weariness of depression.
Which
pairs masterfully with the opening sequence of the book, in which George wakes
and gradually “becomes.” The book’s art is in its words while the film’s
strongest poignancy is visual, but both are equally effective at painting a
picture of what George is experiencing.
The film
is less effective at recreating other aspects of George’s emotions, chiefly his
annoyance at society and his anger at homophobia. However, it doesn’t fail to do so. Rather, it doesn’t really
try to do so. The movie’s version of George is a different animal, unflappably
cool and stiff-upper-lip about 90% of the time, and Colin Firth plays that
version to a tee. It makes me ache to see him quietly going about his day, with
no one recognizing how heartbroken he is. Part of this, I think, is just an
intentional choice on the part of Tom Ford and co., but I imagine part of it is
that George doesn’t express nearly as much of his anger and annoyance out loud. It’s all in the narration, his
inner thoughts about his neighbors and fellow professors and front steps in San
Francisco. It’s always tough to fully bring out a character in an adaptation
who, on the page, is so internal. In that way, maybe it’s better that the film
veers off and does its own thing, making its own clear choices instead of
failing to measure up to the book’s.
While the
film doesn’t mix in as much humor as the book does, it still pulls it in in
small ways. Firth’s staid delivery makes for a nice deadpan on the mescaline
story, and I enjoy the imagined visual of Grant and his family in their fallout
shelter while Grant drones on about using different contractors so no one
guesses what you’re building (that’s probably the moment in which the film best
captures George’s wryer aspect.)
I will
say, though, that after I read the book, it did bother me that the movie uses
the connective tissue of George planning to commit suicide at the end of the
day. I understand the urge to give the day some added weight right at the
beginning, because the book is really just “a day in the life” for the most
part. But suicide? It makes me sad that the 2009 film hits the “tragic gay”
aspect harder than the 1964 novel. In the book, George is grieving and aimless,
but he keeps going. This is one day, and he plans to do it again tomorrow. He
isn’t building up to killing himself. Even though the film uses the device well
and shows us a lot about their version of George through his actions leading up
to it, I wish it made different decisions in that area.
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