*Minor Spoilers*
Basil, starring Jared Leto and Christian Slater, isn't a movie most film-buffs will recognize. Even fewer people know that it was an adaptation of a nineteenth century novel by English novelist Wilkie Collins, which – unlike the vast horde of ignoramuses who also never saw the movie – I happen to have read.
So if you're wondering whether I'm gonna be that guy, the answer is 'Heck yes', but with a crucial caveat.
Most filmmakers, tasked with converting a novel from the 1800's to a film palatable to today's viewers, take the low road. The easy way out. They "Bay-ize" plots, modernize characters, and in doing so strip the themes entirely. The end result is at best a somewhat decent movie which shares many similarities to an amazing novel, but with a lot more zing. Sometimes they just literally throw in explosions, or zombies, or whatever, which if you ask me (nobody has) might be the better way of going about it. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, at the very least, does not purport to be a straight take on Austen, nor does it affect any high-class bearing.
That isn't what happened with Basil. They either didn't change enough, or changed too much, without adding anything useful. It's a failure in adaptation, since they're taking a novel several hundred pages long and condensing it into ninety minutes. Obviously some fundamental changes are required to trim the fat and focus on the meat of the story. If you don't, you end up with the '98 adaptation of Basil: a flat, obtuse take on nuanced literature (whose themes, quite frankly, didn't have a lot to offer your average 21st century moviegoer in the first place).
The eponymous hero is played by Jared Leto, of recent (undeserved) acclaim for his minuscule role in the latest Superhero crapfest, Suicide Squad. The first sequence, however, features Basil's boyhood and a series of traumas brought on by his over-bearing aristocratic father. The father's shown browbeating any sign of creativity or independence from Basil, culminating when he exiles and disowns Basil's older brother for the crime of loving a woman below his station.
The very next scene reveals his hypocrisy and the root of his prejudice: yup, you guessed it, fornicating with one of the serving girls out on the manor grounds.
By the time Jared Leto steps into Basil's shoes it's obvious he's on the path to rebellion. A chance meeting with mysterious John Mannion from London (Christian Slater) kicks Basil's rebellion into full gear. John introduces Basil to a common man's world, an experience utterly foreign to the sheltered nobleman which culminates when John introduces Basil to Julia Sherwin (Claire Forlani). Despite her cold reception, Basil's instantly infatuated by Julia, and to add fuel to the narrative fire, she's the daughter of a London merchant. Sure, her house makes mine look like a refrigerator box in an alleyway, but a London merchant is to an aristocrat what Burger King is to a five-star steakhouse. The forbidden love blossoms over the course of several scenes, delving into a world of intrigue and betrayal which Basil's father wouldn't have approved of even if it was all roses and daisies, which it's anything but. Julia Sherwin, one way or another, is bound to be his ruin.
(Sidenote: I racked my brain for a specific example in the above metaphor, but I guess I'm just a classless pauper: the nicest steak-house I've ever set foot in was a particularly well-appointed Longhorn with a killer porterhouse.) Radha Bharadwaj ambitiously produced, wrote, and directed Basil, and I think it's obvious he was in over his head. They Bay-ize some of it, sure, replacing a few of the novel's turning points and climaxes with scenes more likely to appeal to the modern audience who won't settle for anything less than over-the-top. But it's not as if Bharadwaj butchered the thing; I can't point to any single example so egregious as to claim they've fundamentally, irreparably ruined the story.
What Basil lacks is depth and nuance. Wilkie Collins worked in the realm of literary prose, utilizing a set of authorial tools entirely separate from those in film. It might as well be the difference between a water-color painting and *opera*. So much of the nuance of character and story is lost when it's compressed into a film of any length, and Bharadwaj's take is continually flat. The relationship between Basil and John Mannion – despite the underrated Slater's noble attempt to carry the weight of the entire film on his shoulders – ends up looking more like a Buddy Movie or Bromance in the first half of the flick, abandoning novel-Basil's infatuation with a more enigmatic John Mannion.
Furthermore, Wilkins was a master of the serial and is often cited as singlehandedly inventing the modern detective story. His style is apparent even in a novel as early in his career as Basil, relying on chapter-by-chapter suspense and all the hooks and cliffs you'd expect of his more famous contemporary, Dickens. There's nothing about any single scene in Basil's adaptation which hooked me or left me on a cliff; it drags ponderously, even for a historical drama. The twist is predictable even to someone unfamiliar with the work.
I can't call the movie a total fail. Certain audiences would eat it up; it would probably do well on Lifetime or Hallmark. But I, if you couldn't tell, am not the kind of person who'd be caught dead watching anything on Lifetime.
So no, it's not 'The Hobbit' (ugh). Cherished literature hasn't been slaughtered, here. It's a decent movie on its own right. The costumes, scoring and cinematography are all proficient, if not engaging.
Yet in the end it's just another middling conversion, and that's probably the best I can say of it.
Basil, starring Jared Leto and Christian Slater, isn't a movie most film-buffs will recognize. Even fewer people know that it was an adaptation of a nineteenth century novel by English novelist Wilkie Collins, which – unlike the vast horde of ignoramuses who also never saw the movie – I happen to have read.
So if you're wondering whether I'm gonna be that guy, the answer is 'Heck yes', but with a crucial caveat.
Most filmmakers, tasked with converting a novel from the 1800's to a film palatable to today's viewers, take the low road. The easy way out. They "Bay-ize" plots, modernize characters, and in doing so strip the themes entirely. The end result is at best a somewhat decent movie which shares many similarities to an amazing novel, but with a lot more zing. Sometimes they just literally throw in explosions, or zombies, or whatever, which if you ask me (nobody has) might be the better way of going about it. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, at the very least, does not purport to be a straight take on Austen, nor does it affect any high-class bearing.
That isn't what happened with Basil. They either didn't change enough, or changed too much, without adding anything useful. It's a failure in adaptation, since they're taking a novel several hundred pages long and condensing it into ninety minutes. Obviously some fundamental changes are required to trim the fat and focus on the meat of the story. If you don't, you end up with the '98 adaptation of Basil: a flat, obtuse take on nuanced literature (whose themes, quite frankly, didn't have a lot to offer your average 21st century moviegoer in the first place).
The eponymous hero is played by Jared Leto, of recent (undeserved) acclaim for his minuscule role in the latest Superhero crapfest, Suicide Squad. The first sequence, however, features Basil's boyhood and a series of traumas brought on by his over-bearing aristocratic father. The father's shown browbeating any sign of creativity or independence from Basil, culminating when he exiles and disowns Basil's older brother for the crime of loving a woman below his station.
The very next scene reveals his hypocrisy and the root of his prejudice: yup, you guessed it, fornicating with one of the serving girls out on the manor grounds.
By the time Jared Leto steps into Basil's shoes it's obvious he's on the path to rebellion. A chance meeting with mysterious John Mannion from London (Christian Slater) kicks Basil's rebellion into full gear. John introduces Basil to a common man's world, an experience utterly foreign to the sheltered nobleman which culminates when John introduces Basil to Julia Sherwin (Claire Forlani). Despite her cold reception, Basil's instantly infatuated by Julia, and to add fuel to the narrative fire, she's the daughter of a London merchant. Sure, her house makes mine look like a refrigerator box in an alleyway, but a London merchant is to an aristocrat what Burger King is to a five-star steakhouse. The forbidden love blossoms over the course of several scenes, delving into a world of intrigue and betrayal which Basil's father wouldn't have approved of even if it was all roses and daisies, which it's anything but. Julia Sherwin, one way or another, is bound to be his ruin.
(Sidenote: I racked my brain for a specific example in the above metaphor, but I guess I'm just a classless pauper: the nicest steak-house I've ever set foot in was a particularly well-appointed Longhorn with a killer porterhouse.) Radha Bharadwaj ambitiously produced, wrote, and directed Basil, and I think it's obvious he was in over his head. They Bay-ize some of it, sure, replacing a few of the novel's turning points and climaxes with scenes more likely to appeal to the modern audience who won't settle for anything less than over-the-top. But it's not as if Bharadwaj butchered the thing; I can't point to any single example so egregious as to claim they've fundamentally, irreparably ruined the story.
What Basil lacks is depth and nuance. Wilkie Collins worked in the realm of literary prose, utilizing a set of authorial tools entirely separate from those in film. It might as well be the difference between a water-color painting and *opera*. So much of the nuance of character and story is lost when it's compressed into a film of any length, and Bharadwaj's take is continually flat. The relationship between Basil and John Mannion – despite the underrated Slater's noble attempt to carry the weight of the entire film on his shoulders – ends up looking more like a Buddy Movie or Bromance in the first half of the flick, abandoning novel-Basil's infatuation with a more enigmatic John Mannion.
Furthermore, Wilkins was a master of the serial and is often cited as singlehandedly inventing the modern detective story. His style is apparent even in a novel as early in his career as Basil, relying on chapter-by-chapter suspense and all the hooks and cliffs you'd expect of his more famous contemporary, Dickens. There's nothing about any single scene in Basil's adaptation which hooked me or left me on a cliff; it drags ponderously, even for a historical drama. The twist is predictable even to someone unfamiliar with the work.
I can't call the movie a total fail. Certain audiences would eat it up; it would probably do well on Lifetime or Hallmark. But I, if you couldn't tell, am not the kind of person who'd be caught dead watching anything on Lifetime.
So no, it's not 'The Hobbit' (ugh). Cherished literature hasn't been slaughtered, here. It's a decent movie on its own right. The costumes, scoring and cinematography are all proficient, if not engaging.
Yet in the end it's just another middling conversion, and that's probably the best I can say of it.