Michael Cunningham on The Hours
Howl: What were some of the things you felt the film really nailed and got right?
Cunningham: I hope it won’t seem I’m dodging the question if I say, Pretty much everything. What I mean by that is, the film derives from the book but it has its own look, its own momentum, its own aesthetic. Which I love. I never wanted a direct “translation” of my novel – what would be the point of that? The novel already exists, in the form of a novel. A movie version should involve a considerable transformation. I don’t suppose any narrative, be it book or movie, gets everything “right.” That’s not really within the realm of human capability. But if everything feels like part of a whole, if everything is true to a central vision, it has all, in a sense, been “nailed.”
Howl: What were some of the things you would have changed or felt were not as true to your vision in the book?
Cunningham: In a sense, I’ve answered this question already. In order, however, to avoid seeming insipid, or overly cooperative, I suppose I could say I wish there’d been more room for a little more humor in the movie. Hey, it’s not as if The Hours, the novel, was a barrel of laughs. But a movie, as we all know, is, must be, condensed and compressed in a way that doesn’t quite apply to novels. I don’t find the movie oppressively serious, and it seems most of the people who saw it didn’t, either. But as long as you’ve asked…
Howl: What was it like taking something that you visualized in your head and then saw become tangible?
Cunningham: It was, of course, a strange experience, but not at all an unpleasant one. The best I can do with this question is by way of offering an analogy: Say reincarnation exists. Never mind whether or not we believe it actually does. Say someone you love has died. Say you meet someone new, years later, and know – you just KNOW – it’s the same person, inhabiting a new body. That’s about as close as I can come to conveying the sensation.
Howl: How involved were you in the production (pre-production and post- included)?
Cunningham: I was more involved than are most writers who sell their books to the movies. Filmmakers are under no obligation to novelists, once the deal has been made, any more than, say, someone who buys your house is obliged to consult you, after the purchase, about refinishing the floors or redoing the kitchen. The people who made The Hours, the movie, were remarkably considerate and respectful, “remarkable” in that it was entirely their own choice. Before production began, I talked to Stephen Daldry, the director, about casting. And David Hare was kind enough to show me progressive drafts of the screenplay, and talk to me about them. Once production had commenced, I was asked for ideas about various scenes and – amazingly – was listened to. This is one of the reasons I find myself saying sometimes that I may be the only living writer actually happy with the film made from his book.
Howl: How do you feel about the creation of further films based on your other books?
Cunningham: I’d be more than glad, assuming I had a good feeling about the producer, director, and writer. I did learn, via the adaptation of another novel of mine, A Home at the End of the World, that as far as I’m concerned, the novelist probably shouldn’t write the adaptation. Not because said novelist necessarily feels that his or her words are sacrosanct, but because he or she has told the story as best he or she can; part of the fun of a film adaptation is seeing how another writer sees the same characters, the same story.
Howl: As a writer, how would you say the adaptation of one of your books into a feature film has affected your career?
Cunningham: I suspect just about any writer who’s had a book made into a movie – all the more so if it turns out to be a hit movie – is that the impact is surprisingly large. Movies are, simply, a more popular art form. That’s just a fact. And so The Hours, the movie, has been seen by far more people than who read the book. However, the movie brought countless people TO the book. I can’t tell you how many people have told me, over the years, that they loved the movie, and so, picked up the novel. That’s a fairly prosaic effect, I suppose, but it’s the only real one – the book itself, after all has already been written. And, as noted, the increased exposure a movie lends to a novel is almost shocking.
Howl: Have you seen other films based on books that you've read (i.e. Jaws, The Godfather, and so on) and thought, "They really nailed it," or "They really butchered that," and why?
Cunningham: There’s an old truism, which may actually be true, that pulpy books tend to make better movies, because a pulpier novel doesn’t intrude its voice and vision in the same way. Hence, great movies made out of books like “Jaws” and “The Godfather.” Atom Egoyan made a really good movie, The Sweet Hereafter, from a really good novel of the same title, by Russell Banks, in 1997. I’m sure there are others, but that one comes most immediately to mind. I’m also strangely fascinated by the fact that there have been four – four – film versions of The Great Gatsby, and each has been disappointing in one way or another; I mean disappointing as movies, not as adaptations of a great book. Which, naturally, makes me want to try to write an adaptation of The Great Gatsby…
Howl: When a book is adapted to a film, some of that world built up in the readers' imaginations is ultimately lost or altered. How do you feel about that and did it do the same for you?
Cunningham: I should refer you to a previous answer, the one in which I compare the experience to reincarnation. I’ve heard people complain that after they saw the movie, they could no longer visualize the characters the way they had when they read the book. I can only tell them that, if their imaginations are that delicate, and their desire for a singular vision so intense, there are probably some movies they should avoid altogether.
Howl: What were some of the most memorable experiences from having your book adapted to film?
Cunningham: There are so many…OK the one that stands out is Nicole Kidman’s performance. This is no secret…Nicole was not taken very seriously as an actor, at the time. She was Paramount’s choice, because she had such star power. Neither Meryl Streep nor Julianne Moore were the box office draws they are today. Few people involved with the movie thought Nicole could pull it off. And, of course, she did. In spades. It was a truly remarkable – and memorable – experience, right from the day we saw the first of the dailies (I was in London when Nicole started shooting), and realized that she was, in fact, going to do it. I’ll never forget that.
Howl: What advice would you give to any published writers whose works are being considered for film adaptation? Lessons learned?
Cunningham: Only sell your book to people whose work, whose intelligence and insight and vision, you respect. If the people who approach you strike you as hacks, or simply as clueless, walk away (not easy, I know, if they’re offering money, but I’d still advise against selling one’s book to people who feel wrong for it, from the start). And then, let it go. Understand that your book is not a Holy Book, it’s not carved in granite, it’s nothing like a piece of the True Cross; it’s neither more nor less than the best book you could possibly write, when you wrote it.
Let the movie people do what they do. Accept the fact that even significant artists fail sometimes – that is, know that it’s always a gamble, that good moviemakers sometimes make not-so-good movies, in part because a movie is such an enormous undertaking, involving so many people and other factors, that it can all too easily go astray.
Hope for the best. And by the time the movie comes out, whether it’s a hit or a miss, you’ll be well into your next book, and that will, should, be your primary concern.
Cunningham: I hope it won’t seem I’m dodging the question if I say, Pretty much everything. What I mean by that is, the film derives from the book but it has its own look, its own momentum, its own aesthetic. Which I love. I never wanted a direct “translation” of my novel – what would be the point of that? The novel already exists, in the form of a novel. A movie version should involve a considerable transformation. I don’t suppose any narrative, be it book or movie, gets everything “right.” That’s not really within the realm of human capability. But if everything feels like part of a whole, if everything is true to a central vision, it has all, in a sense, been “nailed.”
Howl: What were some of the things you would have changed or felt were not as true to your vision in the book?
Cunningham: In a sense, I’ve answered this question already. In order, however, to avoid seeming insipid, or overly cooperative, I suppose I could say I wish there’d been more room for a little more humor in the movie. Hey, it’s not as if The Hours, the novel, was a barrel of laughs. But a movie, as we all know, is, must be, condensed and compressed in a way that doesn’t quite apply to novels. I don’t find the movie oppressively serious, and it seems most of the people who saw it didn’t, either. But as long as you’ve asked…
Howl: What was it like taking something that you visualized in your head and then saw become tangible?
Cunningham: It was, of course, a strange experience, but not at all an unpleasant one. The best I can do with this question is by way of offering an analogy: Say reincarnation exists. Never mind whether or not we believe it actually does. Say someone you love has died. Say you meet someone new, years later, and know – you just KNOW – it’s the same person, inhabiting a new body. That’s about as close as I can come to conveying the sensation.
Howl: How involved were you in the production (pre-production and post- included)?
Cunningham: I was more involved than are most writers who sell their books to the movies. Filmmakers are under no obligation to novelists, once the deal has been made, any more than, say, someone who buys your house is obliged to consult you, after the purchase, about refinishing the floors or redoing the kitchen. The people who made The Hours, the movie, were remarkably considerate and respectful, “remarkable” in that it was entirely their own choice. Before production began, I talked to Stephen Daldry, the director, about casting. And David Hare was kind enough to show me progressive drafts of the screenplay, and talk to me about them. Once production had commenced, I was asked for ideas about various scenes and – amazingly – was listened to. This is one of the reasons I find myself saying sometimes that I may be the only living writer actually happy with the film made from his book.
Howl: How do you feel about the creation of further films based on your other books?
Cunningham: I’d be more than glad, assuming I had a good feeling about the producer, director, and writer. I did learn, via the adaptation of another novel of mine, A Home at the End of the World, that as far as I’m concerned, the novelist probably shouldn’t write the adaptation. Not because said novelist necessarily feels that his or her words are sacrosanct, but because he or she has told the story as best he or she can; part of the fun of a film adaptation is seeing how another writer sees the same characters, the same story.
Howl: As a writer, how would you say the adaptation of one of your books into a feature film has affected your career?
Cunningham: I suspect just about any writer who’s had a book made into a movie – all the more so if it turns out to be a hit movie – is that the impact is surprisingly large. Movies are, simply, a more popular art form. That’s just a fact. And so The Hours, the movie, has been seen by far more people than who read the book. However, the movie brought countless people TO the book. I can’t tell you how many people have told me, over the years, that they loved the movie, and so, picked up the novel. That’s a fairly prosaic effect, I suppose, but it’s the only real one – the book itself, after all has already been written. And, as noted, the increased exposure a movie lends to a novel is almost shocking.
Howl: Have you seen other films based on books that you've read (i.e. Jaws, The Godfather, and so on) and thought, "They really nailed it," or "They really butchered that," and why?
Cunningham: There’s an old truism, which may actually be true, that pulpy books tend to make better movies, because a pulpier novel doesn’t intrude its voice and vision in the same way. Hence, great movies made out of books like “Jaws” and “The Godfather.” Atom Egoyan made a really good movie, The Sweet Hereafter, from a really good novel of the same title, by Russell Banks, in 1997. I’m sure there are others, but that one comes most immediately to mind. I’m also strangely fascinated by the fact that there have been four – four – film versions of The Great Gatsby, and each has been disappointing in one way or another; I mean disappointing as movies, not as adaptations of a great book. Which, naturally, makes me want to try to write an adaptation of The Great Gatsby…
Howl: When a book is adapted to a film, some of that world built up in the readers' imaginations is ultimately lost or altered. How do you feel about that and did it do the same for you?
Cunningham: I should refer you to a previous answer, the one in which I compare the experience to reincarnation. I’ve heard people complain that after they saw the movie, they could no longer visualize the characters the way they had when they read the book. I can only tell them that, if their imaginations are that delicate, and their desire for a singular vision so intense, there are probably some movies they should avoid altogether.
Howl: What were some of the most memorable experiences from having your book adapted to film?
Cunningham: There are so many…OK the one that stands out is Nicole Kidman’s performance. This is no secret…Nicole was not taken very seriously as an actor, at the time. She was Paramount’s choice, because she had such star power. Neither Meryl Streep nor Julianne Moore were the box office draws they are today. Few people involved with the movie thought Nicole could pull it off. And, of course, she did. In spades. It was a truly remarkable – and memorable – experience, right from the day we saw the first of the dailies (I was in London when Nicole started shooting), and realized that she was, in fact, going to do it. I’ll never forget that.
Howl: What advice would you give to any published writers whose works are being considered for film adaptation? Lessons learned?
Cunningham: Only sell your book to people whose work, whose intelligence and insight and vision, you respect. If the people who approach you strike you as hacks, or simply as clueless, walk away (not easy, I know, if they’re offering money, but I’d still advise against selling one’s book to people who feel wrong for it, from the start). And then, let it go. Understand that your book is not a Holy Book, it’s not carved in granite, it’s nothing like a piece of the True Cross; it’s neither more nor less than the best book you could possibly write, when you wrote it.
Let the movie people do what they do. Accept the fact that even significant artists fail sometimes – that is, know that it’s always a gamble, that good moviemakers sometimes make not-so-good movies, in part because a movie is such an enormous undertaking, involving so many people and other factors, that it can all too easily go astray.
Hope for the best. And by the time the movie comes out, whether it’s a hit or a miss, you’ll be well into your next book, and that will, should, be your primary concern.