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Posts Tagged ‘Kafka at the Shore’

Some years back, I read that Robert Redford owned the film rights to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Zen & MM).  I recently found out that was a screenwriting myth — Pirsig never sold his rights, at least according to The Guardian.  At the time, however, I became obsessed with writing the script.  There was an online version of Zen & MM which I downloaded and broke into four parts.  I carried it with me and highlighted and made notes while taking the NY subway to jobs that had so little to do with “quality,” that I could smell the irony wafting up from the subway platform.  I wanted to create a structure that would serve the philosophy in some manner — without its musings on “Quality,” Zen & MM is more or less just another road trip.  While I spent more time on other projects — projects that I’d been hired to write or had a greater chance of being produced — I always came back to Zen & MM.  Each time, it was as if I had to master the novel again before I could even consider adding a line to the script.  I’d been at it for many years before discovering that Pirsig was not likely to allow a movie to be made.

And there are films that should not be made, just as there are musicals that cannot be made.  I was told by a composer and lyricist team that during their first workshop at BMI, they were forced to make a musical version of “Hamlet,” — only as an exercise in demonstrating this principle: that it shouldn’t be attempted.  A few years before that “Anna Karenina” the musical opened at Circle on the Square.  I have no knowledge of the show — I didn’t see it, have never heard the music.  It closed after 46 performances and was roundly bashed by every critic (although it was nominated for some Tony awards).  But each time I thought of it, all I could imagine was — how do you stage the grand finale?  I had this imagine of Anna, standing on a platform, while hundreds of onlookers (train passengers) sang “Here comes the train/Here comes the train/ Whooo.”  What does Anna do?  Throw herself into the orchestra pit?  There’s just no good way out of it.  And the novel is too vast to try and turn the musical into a quintet of some sort.

Francis Ford Coppola did not make the film of On the Road.  He’d owned the rights for so many years and never made the film.  I went to a casting session in a church near Lincoln Center.  We simply lined up and walked by FFC.  We were asked not to shake his hand as he had a cold.  Ten years passed and the film never made it past pre-production.  Some time later, he did end up producing a version which I’m not sure even hit the theatres.  It wasn’t so great.  What makes the book is the narrator, not necessarily the action.  Not so long ago, I read an article on Atlas Shrugged being the screenwriter’s long time obsession (the movie was not good).  I imagine it is possible for every screenwriter to have a list of impossible films he or she’d like to make.  On my list, along with Zen & MM is also John Fowles’ The Magus and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude.

I finished reading Murakami’s After Dark again last night.  While it is not on my list, it did inspire me to ask why Murakami’s novels have not been made in more movies (Japanese versions of Norwegian Wood and the short story “Tony Takatani,” have been filmed as far as I know).  He’s hugely popular as a novelist with a world-wide appeal.  What gives?

So I did a plot outline of After Dark in my head.  Boy meets girl at amusement district Denny’s (Ikebukoro? Shinjuku?).  He goes to band practice.  A former female wrestler comes to get girl in Denny’s because she speaks Chinese. Girl beaten up in Love Hotel where wrestler is manager is Chinese.  Chinese Girl’s pimp comes to get her on a motorcycle.  Girl and female wrestler go for a beer.  Girls’ sister is sleeping for two months, she doesn’t want to go home. Man who beat Chinese girl works in local office.  Band member takes breaks twice to hang out with girl from Denny’s.  They talk and feed cats.  In the end, night office man can’t sleep when he gets home, Denny’s girl’s sister doesn’t wake, and the band member and the Denny’s girl agree to write letters when she’s in Beijing. In other words, everything that happens in the novel is not primarily plot.

There are brilliant parallels made about the kinds of walls we put up and these are reflected in so many layers of character development.  The wording often borders on lyrical: “The final darkness of the night envelops the city like a thin skin….Even the young couple who stop at a drink vending machine, tightly pressed against each other, have no more words for each other.  Instead, what they soundlessly share is the lingering warmth of their bodies.” p.173 (Knopf hardcover edition).  But there is very little you can film.

If I go through Murakami’s novels as an oeuvre, there are few that stand up to a plot breakdown. People tend to hole up in hotel rooms and order room service a lot.  Not very compelling stuff. Kafka on the Shore comes closest.  Unlike Zen & MM or The Magus, however, I do not feel compelled to put Wind Up Bird or 1Q84 on my screenwriting “to do” list.  Why?  I imagine it has a great deal to do with when I encountered each.

I found Zen & MM as a college student.  I was a philosophy minor, English major, and the book spoke directly to so many concerns and questions I had about the world.  The Magus I discovered a few years later — after I’d graduated from college, had been through a few very intimate relationships and was looking to adventure in a much wider world than the one I’d been raised in.  I remember reading Arthur Miller’s After the Fall within a year of having been in a relationship with someone whose self-esteem and addictions mirrored those of Maggie in the play.  I remember sobbing and crying “truth” as I read.  I still think it’s Miller’s most under-rated play because the press can’t treat it as theatre without screaming that Maggie is Marilyn Monroe and hating Miller for humanizing their icon (Pet peeve).

I imagine the next work that will move me that way, will be On Death and Dying (when I’m slightly closer to the end)I don’t have a whole lot of reverence left for politics, history or romance. And I do believe it is passion that makes us want to share the work that’s rocked our world with the larger world around us. In most of my script engagements now, I’m considered the “structure” guy — the guy who can stand back and see patterns, nudge motivations, individualize characters, cut away dross — but there are times I’d trade it all for a few more days of passion.

(1) I imagine someone’s already grabbed that title and used it for a production company

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