I apologize a bit because this topic is kind of similar to our Remakes post a few months back, at least in terms of the underlying theme of lack of originality in Hollywood (ironic because I’m showing a slight lack of the same thing in my post). But the fact remains this topic hit me karma is going to hit Lebron James last night when I was watching “The Lords of Discipline,” an early 80s flick based on the tremendous Pat Conroy novel with the same name. The book climbed into my top 10 this summer, and the movie rendition made me want to vomit. Though it starred a relative who’s who of 80’s stars who never really panned out (Judge Reinhold, Michael Biehn, David Keith), it was barely even a cliff notes version of the book. After the movie I did what any normal individual does, and studied the crap out of it on IMDB. What did I come upon? The movie version of Ayn Rand’s renowned “Atlas Shrugged” is finally in production.
At one time rumored to be starring the likes of Brad Pitt and Charlize Theron, it is now starring absolutely no one and being directed by a dude who’s main credits include 12 episodes of effing One Tree Hill. Suffice it to say, I almost threw up on top of the throw up the movie I had just watched caused. I know Congress is busy and all (oh wait, no they aren’t, they are in recess for a fu$king month, cause that makes sense), but since they have always been hellbent on getting involved in shit that shouldn’t involve them – steroids in baseball, concussions in football – why can’t they delegate a committee to put down productions such as a C- version of one of the greatest books ever written?
I don’t think we should just put the kibosh on making books into movies, but at the very least, a screenplay must be ok’ed by a committee of people who think it will do the book justice. After all, some movies based on books are tremendous (Mystic River, Watchmen, the Police Academy Series). But most suck. We hear the same bullshit excuse all the time, “there just isn’t enough time in a movie to fully develop everything.” Oh, ok…in that case…don’t make it!
All this anger probably can be traced back to October of 2004, because like everything in my life, it relates to the Red Sox. What should have been unequivocally the happies moment of my life remains to this day slightly soured because the Farrelly brothers used the first Red Sox World Series celebration in 86 years to film the end of an abysmal version of Nick Hornby’s “Fever Pitch.” Thanks alot assholes, you two clowns should’ve hung em up after “Outside Providence.”