Books vs. Movies: The Haunting

Shirley Jackson's "The Haunting of Hill House" stands as one of the most influential haunted house stories ever written, a masterpiece of psychological horror that has inspired countless adaptations. In our podcast episode, we dive deep into comparing the original novel with its 1999 film adaptation, "The Haunting," directed by Jan de Bont and starring Liam Neeson, Lili Taylor, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Owen Wilson. What emerges is a fascinating case study in how adaptation rights and creative choices can dramatically transform source material.

The 1999 adaptation differs significantly from Jackson's novel due to interesting copyright constraints. As we discuss in the episode, the filmmakers weren't legally permitted to call their work a remake of the 1963 film "The Haunting" or even pay homage to it. This forced them to create a "new interpretation" of Jackson's novel, resulting in fundamental changes to the story. While the book presents a subtle psychological study of Eleanor Vance, a woman with a traumatic past who becomes increasingly drawn to Hill House during a paranormal investigation, the film transforms the narrative into a more conventional haunted house story with explicit supernatural elements.

One of the most striking differences lies in the characterization of Eleanor. In Jackson's novel, Eleanor is a complex, socially awkward woman who has spent years caring for her recently deceased mother. Her journey to Hill House represents her first taste of independence, and the house's apparent interest in her provides a sense of belonging she's never experienced. The book's Eleanor has a difficult relationship with her sister and brother-in-law, essentially has nowhere else to go, and gradually develops an unhealthy attachment to the house. The film, however, portrays Eleanor as having a much more supportive family and gives her a literal connection to the house by making her a descendant of its builder, Hugh Craine.

The portrayal of Hill House itself differs dramatically between novel and film. Jackson's Hill House is architecturally unsettling but ultimately recognizable as a house - its horror comes from a sense of wrongness, heaviness, and disorientation rather than outlandish features. The 1999 film takes a much more literal approach, filling the house with bizarre rooms including a carousel, a river crossing, mirror mazes, and numerous disturbing statues. This transformation from subtle psychological horror to visual spectacle exemplifies how Hollywood often trades nuance for explicit scares.

Perhaps most significantly, the film introduces elements entirely absent from the novel - particularly ghost children. In Jackson's work, there are no children involved in the haunting at all. The 1999 film makes them central to the plot, with Hugh Craine portrayed as obsessed with filling his house with children's laughter, ultimately resorting to kidnapping and murder. This addition fundamentally changes the nature of the haunting and shifts the focus away from Eleanor's psychological deterioration toward a more conventional ghost story with clear villains and victims.

Despite these significant departures from the source material, the film does make some positive changes, particularly in character relationships. In Jackson's novel, the other participants in the study are often inexplicably cruel to Eleanor, particularly Theodora. The film portrays these relationships more sympathetically, with Theodora genuinely caring about Eleanor's well being. This creates a more engaging dynamic between the characters, though the film's excessive sexualization of Theodora's character (played by Catherine Zeta-Jones) feels dated and unnecessary by today's standards.

Whether you're a fan of Shirley Jackson's masterful novel or just enjoy campy horror films, both versions of "The Haunting of Hill House" offer distinct experiences. The book remains a quintessential psychological horror story that leaves readers feeling unsettled about the house long after the final page, while the 1999 film provides more straightforward entertainment that, while not particularly faithful to its source, can still be enjoyed as a silly, fun horror movie from the era of bombastic late-90s filmmaking.

 

 

Going Clear

The documentary "Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief" and its source material, Lawrence Wright's comprehensive book, offer a shocking glimpse into one of the most controversial religious organizations in modern history. Both works meticulously dissect the Church of Scientology's origins, its Hollywood connections, and the troubling allegations that have followed it for decades.

The origins of Scientology trace back to Lafayette Ronald Hubbard (L. Ron Hubbard), a prolific science fiction writer who transformed his self-help system, Dianetics, into a full-fledged religion. Wright's book delves deeply into Hubbard's background, revealing contradictions between his claimed military heroism and actual service record. This context proves crucial for understanding how a science fiction writer created a belief system where humans are vessels for alien spirits called "Thetans," trapped on Earth after an intergalactic catastrophe millions of years ago.

The concept of "going clear" refers to the process by which Scientologists attempt to rid themselves of negative influences from past lives through "auditing" sessions. During these sessions, individuals are connected to an "E-meter" (essentially a rudimentary lie detector) while answering deeply personal questions. The organization claims this process helps members overcome trauma and unlock superhuman abilities. However, both the book and documentary suggest these sessions primarily serve to collect compromising information that can later be used against members who attempt to leave.

Scientology's infiltration of Hollywood represents one of its most successful strategies. The organization deliberately targeted celebrities through its "Celebrity Centre" in Los Angeles, understanding that star power would provide legitimacy and protection. Tom Cruise and John Travolta emerge as the most prominent Scientologist celebrities, with the documentary making explosive claims about how the church manipulated Cruise's relationships, including allegedly orchestrating his breakup with Nicole Kidman and later "auditioning" potential partners for him without their knowledge.

Perhaps most disturbing are the accounts of physical abuse, intimidation, and exploitation within the organization, particularly after David Miscavige assumed leadership following Hubbard's death. Former high-ranking members describe a culture of fear and isolation in the "Sea Org," Scientology's elite religious order, where members sign billion-year contracts and allegedly face harsh punishment for perceived infractions. The documentary highlights the "Rehabilitation Project Force," described as a prison-like re-education program for members who question authority.

Both works examine Scientology's aggressive legal tactics against critics and former members, including harassment campaigns labeled as "Fair Game." The church has consistently denied all allegations of abuse and misconduct, dismissing former members as disgruntled liars. However, the sheer number of consistent testimonies from high-ranking former officials lends credibility to these troubling accounts.

For those interested in this subject, both the book and documentary offer valuable insights, though Wright's book provides significantly more detail and context. The documentary serves as an excellent introduction, while the book delivers a more comprehensive understanding of this fascinating and disturbing organization that continues to wield considerable influence despite ongoing controversies and legal challenges.

 

Books vs. Movies: the Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid's Tale stands as one of the most powerful dystopian novels ever written, and its adaptation to television has sparked numerous discussions about adaptation choices, visual storytelling, and the timeless warnings embedded in Margaret Atwood's original text. In this deep dive, we'll explore the key differences between the book and Hulu's acclaimed series adaptation, examining what these creative choices reveal about both mediums and how they affect the overall message.

Margaret Atwood's haunting novel presents a chilling vision of America transformed into the Republic of Gilead, a totalitarian theocracy where women are stripped of their rights and fertile women are forced to become "handmaids" – bearing children for the ruling elite. The Hulu adaptation, particularly its first season which covers the entirety of Atwood's novel, remains largely faithful to this premise while making significant changes to characters, plot elements, and the visual presentation of this dystopian world.

One of the most notable discrepancies involves the ages of key characters. In the novel, the Commander and his wife are described as significantly older, which creates an important subtext about fertility and blame - these older men may be sterile themselves, yet the blame for not conceiving falls entirely on the handmaids. The television adaptation casts younger actors like Joseph Fiennes and Yvonne Strahovski, undermining this crucial theme. This casting choice weakens one of Atwood's key social critiques about how patriarchal systems place reproductive burdens and blame exclusively on women.

The graphic depiction of violence differs substantially between the two versions. The television series notably increases the visual brutality, adding elements like Janine's eye removal as punishment and the genital mutilation of Ofglen after her same-sex relationship is discovered. While these elements aren't explicitly portrayed in the book, they represent the show's approach to making the implied horrors of Gilead visually explicit. This raises questions about adaptation choices - does making these implied threats visible strengthen the message or sensationalize the violence?

Character journeys also diverge significantly. In the TV adaptation, Moira's escape narrative is expanded, culminating in her successful flight to Canada. The novel offers no such resolution, leaving her fate at Jezebel's as a tragic commentary on how even the strongest resistors can be broken by the system. Similarly, June's relationship with Nick becomes a full-blown affair in the series, while remaining much more ambiguous in the novel. These changes reflect television's tendency to provide more concrete character arcs and emotional payoffs than literary fiction sometimes allows.

Perhaps most interestingly, both the novel and the first season of the TV series end with the same cliffhanger - Offred entering a van, uncertain if she's being rescued or arrested. However, the novel follows this with "Historical Notes" that frame Offred's story as historical testimony being studied in the future, suggesting Gilead eventually fell. The TV series, needing to continue beyond season one, couldn't incorporate this epilogue in the same way, fundamentally altering how audiences might perceive the story's ultimate message about resistance and historical memory.

Whether experiencing The Handmaid's Tale through Atwood's prose, Renee Nault's stunning graphic novel adaptation with its striking watercolor visuals, or Hulu's award-winning series, each medium brings unique strengths to this timeless warning about extremism, reproductive rights, and the fragility of democratic institutions. The differences between these adaptations don't necessarily suggest one is superior - rather, they reveal how different storytelling mediums can illuminate different aspects of the same powerful narrative.

 

Books vs. Movies: Let the Right One In

Let the Right One In, both as a novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist and its 2008 Swedish film adaptation, has secured its place as one of the most haunting vampire stories of the modern era. While many vampire tales focus on seduction and glamour, this story takes us to the bleak, snow-covered suburb of Blackeburg, Sweden in 1981, where 12-year-old Oscar's lonely existence intersects with that of Eli, a centuries-old vampire trapped in the body of a child.

The brilliance of Let the Right One In lies in how it re imagines vampire mythology through the lens of childhood trauma and loneliness. Oscar is mercilessly bullied at school, finding solace only in his fantasies of revenge. When Eli arrives, their connection is immediate and profound – two outsiders finding understanding in each other. Yet this relationship is far more complex than a simple childhood friendship, raising questions about dependency, manipulation, and the true nature of love when one party is inherently predatory.

Lindqvist's novel delves into considerably darker territory than even the Swedish film dares to explore. The character of Håkan, Eli's adult caretaker, is revealed in the book to be a pedophile who assists Eli in obtaining blood in exchange for proximity to a child he can never touch. This disturbing dynamic is sanitized in the film, where Håkan appears more as a devoted but tragic father figure. Similarly, Eli's backstory – including the revelation that she was born male before being castrated during her transformation into a vampire – receives more explicit treatment in the novel, while the film offers only subtle hints through brief imagery and dialogue.

The peripheral characters also receive more development in the novel, particularly Virginia, whose transformation after being attacked by Eli allows readers to experience the horrifying process of becoming a vampire. Her conscious decision to end her life rather than exist as a predator offers a poignant counterpoint to Eli's centuries of reluctant survival. The book also explores the relationship between Oscar and his mother with greater depth, making his ultimate decision to leave with Eli all the more heartbreaking.

What makes both versions of Let the Right One In so compelling is their refusal to romanticize the vampire condition. Unlike many modern vampire stories that portray immortality as desirable despite its costs, Lindqvist presents vampirism as a tragic, isolating existence. Eli doesn't sparkle in sunlight – she burns. She doesn't seduce with supernatural charm – she struggles to connect with anyone at all. Her eternal existence is one of necessary predation, constant relocation, and the inability to truly belong anywhere.

The film adaptation, directed by Tomas Alfredson, captures the novel's bleak atmosphere through stark visuals and minimal dialogue. The snow-covered landscape of suburban Sweden becomes almost another character, its whiteness contrasting with the dark moral territory the story explores. The performances by the child actors Kåre Hedebrant (Oscar) and Lina Leandersson (Eli) are extraordinary in their restraint, communicating volumes through glances and silences rather than excessive dialogue.

For those who have experienced both the book and film, the question becomes not which is better, but how they complement each other. The film's visual poetry and restraint create a haunting atmosphere that lingers long after viewing, while the novel's deeper exploration of character and backstory provides context that enriches the viewing experience. Together, they create one of the most compelling vampire narratives of our time – one that uses the supernatural not for escapism, but as a mirror reflecting the darkest aspects of human nature and our desperate need for connection, even when that connection might ultimately consume us.