- Share This Post
- submit
- 5
-
Sparkle (0)
Way back in June of 2007, I was delighted to learn that Philippa Gregory's fantastic novel - The Other Boleyn Girl - would be coming to the big screen. Having devoured all of Gregory's Tudor novels, I had high hopes for this film.
The strength of Gregory's novel was in the richly developed plot and fully imagined environment. You knew what everyone looked like, where they were sitting, what they were wearing, who was looking at them, what they all were eating...and on top of that, you knew what motivated most of the characters, and what was at stake.
Author Tracy Grant talks about her fascination with the Boleyn siblings' relationship at her site, Secrets of a Lady:
One of the things I found most intriguing about The Other Boleyn Girl as a both a book and a movie is the complex relationships of the three Boleyn siblings, Anne, Mary, and George. Relationships between siblings offer such a rich wealth for an author to explore–love, jealousy, understanding, misunderstanding, competition, support, histories that intertwine from the cradle.
Additionally, all the characters were quite vivid, and the romances and heartbreaks were skillfully built. Gregory builds some mighty fine tension in her characters, and the longing and anguish and triumph were tangible. These were characters that I either loved or hated, and by the end of the book, I wanted more.
Not so with movie version.
Despite the gorgeous cast, the brilliant costumes and the lovely scenery, the vast epic from the novel is distilled down to the essence of the plot - and it becomes hollow in the process. I wanted the sweeping, languorous epic, the whole sweating, bosom-heaving, I can't take any more oh my GOD do not stop deal and instead I got a quickie.
How rude. Frankly, it really could have used some foreplay.
Spyscribbler notes that the cleaning up of the various plots was a bit too tidy:
The movie was faithful to the spirit of the book and mostly to the plot, but much of the motivations of each character was left out. Sadly, most of the spying, betrayals and intrigue was left out. (It breaks my heart.) George was never given an opportunity to show himself as the life of the court, as he was, nor was Anne given the opportunity to show how delightful she could be for the king.
Mary, however, was the truest. They tidied things up; she bore only a son in the movie, while in the book and in real life, she had a son and a daughter for King Henry.
Sarah Johnson at Reading The Past pinpoints the problem accurately:
...the film does play it safe, more so than Gregory's novel did, and not just in that instance. Johansson's Mary Boleyn = meek, quiet, and biddable; Portman's Anne = outspoken, witty, daring, and ambitious. Making them polar opposites simplifies things, and rendered the movie superficial. Gregory's version of Mary was more well-rounded, and therefore more interesting; I found it hard to root for either sister, despite it being blatantly obvious that their father and uncle were using them to fulfill their own ambitions ("pimping them out" is the phrase the NYT review used, and rather aptly).
Perhaps if I hadn't read the novel, I would have been able to embrace the film more fully. MaryAnn Johanson from The Flick Filosopher found the whole thing ridiculously delicious:
And that’s all in The Other Boleyn Girl, the fun sexiness, the mean nastiness, the oh-my-god-movie-starness of Scarlett Johansson (no relation -- don’t I wish I could glom onto her gorgeousness) and Natalie Portman and Eric Bana. They are not movie stars who let you forget you’re watching movie stars -- at least not in this movie, and maybe costume dramas bring that out in certain actors; they’re not, at least not in this movie, actors who can disappear into their roles. But that’s okay. It’s redolent of the kind of glamour and charismatic faux-trickery of Golden Age Hollywood, like watching Cary Grant or Katharain Hepburn in anything: you never really want to see a character, you want to just bask in their radiance for an hour or two.
That’s sort of not fair, when it comes to this flick, because it’s not like these three stars aren’t real actors, don’t want to be taken seriously: it’s just their own damn dumb luck that they’re so impossibly captivating in that movie-star way. And so the kind of sexual Mexican
