The best books to read in tandem with their eccentric movie adaptations

I was introduced to this book through Tavernier’s brilliant adaptation, Clean Slate (Coup de Torchon, 1981). Set in Texas, Thompson’s novel was published in 1964, during the Civil Rights Movement, and it offers a portrait of petty-minded racism in the continuing aftermath of slavery. Tavernier’s adaptation transposes the story to 1930s French colonial West Africa. I remain haunted by the ways the two settings illuminate each other. Tavernier’s blending of a deadly serious historical crisis with touches of comedy—slapstick even—brings both eras and the novel itself to life in enjoyable and instructive ways.

I have never been a Melville fan. I’ve tried several times, unsuccessfully, to finish reading Moby Dick. Two adaptations led me to Billy Budd, however. Claire Denis’ 1999 film, Beau Travail, conjures up a Foreign Legion contingent in colonial Djibouti in a tense and meditative, even hypnotic viewing experience. I am especially intrigued by the intervals of ritual-like dancing at several junctures in the film. Benjamin Britten’s opera, Billy Budd, by contrast, is an edgy and explosive adaptation of the same story. I was curious to read the shared literary source behind these two radically different interpretations, and I wasn’t disappointed.

I discovered this novella thanks to its recent screen adaptation. The novel, like the film, outlines the dual traps faced by one of the protagonists, a light-skinned Black woman who can escape racial injustices by passing as white, only to fall prey to the shame, anxiety, and dangers of living a lie. The savagery of this double-edged trap is only partially masked by social niceties and delicate writing that nevertheless betray damaging assumptions and behaviors. The novella is a natural for cinematic adaptation, where the racial dynamic is necessarily more immediately visible, and which necessarily emphasizes dynamics of looking and the gaze of characters and spectators alike. The period, too—1920s New York—is exquisitely but differently rendered in the two media.

You think you know a book, and then an adaptation blows your understanding wide open. This play always rewards re-reading, but especially in tandem with Akira Kurosawa’s film adaptation, Throne of Blood. Set in Medieval Japan, the film looks and seems utterly different from Shakespeare’s writing; astonishingly, Kurosawa’s adaptation uses none of the language from the original play, even in translation! The film is completely self-contained within its Japanese historical and visual setting, and yet the play’s plot, characters, themes, and motifs reappear in the film: prophecy, the mysterious powers of nature, ruthless ambition, fear and revenge, madness, and the supernatural. Seeing the story through a different cultural lens brings uncanny echoes into a rereading of the original play.

The book is a collection of short stories by my favorite mystery novel writer. Burke’s series detective, Dave Robicheaux, who is both a Louisiana cop and a moral philosopher, repeatedly strives to overcome his own flaws and set right the cruel catastrophes wrought by human ignorance, stupidity, and cruelty. Jesus Out to Sea is infused with the same narrative and poetic ferocity, but without Robicheaux this time. The collection is set in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and probes the human costs of the devastation wrought by nature and exacerbated by administrative corruption and bad faith. 

A surprising and powerful adaptation of one of the stories—“Winter Light”—will be released theatrically in the fall of 2022 with the title God’s Country. It’s the first feature by Julian Higgins, a promising young director (who happens to be my son). The film premiered at the Sundance Film Festival to enthusiastic reviews and stars Thandiwe Newton in a performance that has been described as the best of her career.