May 25th, 2010

good mris pic

They'll put it on my tombstone: "The book was better."

But in this case, not as much better as I'd feared.

The book and movie in question are Ballet Shoes, the Noel Streatfeild children's classic. I got it from the library to watch during a workout, on the theory that if it was too painful, at least it would be too painful for free, and in any case it couldn't be worse than Five Children and It's movie adaptation.

It was not nearly that bad. (That really plumbed the depths, though, holy crud.) And really you have to love a movie where the happy ending involves sending a child to Prague in the early thirties. Then I went back to the book and found that while it wasn't Prague, the happy ending of the book involved sending a child to Czechoslovakia when the book came out in 1937. Oh, hindsight, how appalling you can be sometimes.

But anyway: the book had more room to be introspective than the movie, and that mattered a lot in how much I liked it. It also had more room to be domestic, and that mattered to me, too. My favorite characters from the book were Petrova of course, and she was my favorite in the movie, too, and also Dr. Smith and Dr. Jakes and Winifred. The doctors were done well but barely present. the subject of one of my main gripes with the movie Ballet Shoes.

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Do you see that this is not Darby O'Gill? Yes. So do I. I lost my nerve. Tomorrow. Really.