Thursday 6 September 2018 / lists, music
Four Albums That Make Me Smile
When I conceived the idea for this post, I had a long list of albums by the likes of The Rolling Stones and Neil Young. David Bowie, The Slits, Hole and Whitney were on there too. But as I started to write, I realised I wanted to share albums with a story attached, a memory, and not just my favourites (which is a tie between Revolver and Abbey Road, by the way). Records that pull you out of the here-and-now and snap you right back into a different phase of your life, the way catching a whiff of a certain perfume on a passing stranger does. So out went Exile on Main Street and Harvest - that last one hurt a lot - and in came this nostalgia-inducing quartet. Look, no Beatles!
1. Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook - Ella Fitzgerald
I'm a night writer, for sure. I used to spend a lot of my nights in the library - not for the books, of which there were surprisingly few, but for a quiet place to write without distraction. I'd usually sleep all day, and then walk to the library, a few streets away from my grubby flat, at about 10pm. It was almost always raining, and so I'd turn up with a tangle of black curls on top of my head and eyeliner dripping down my cheeks. I probably looked like a ghost from a Japanese horror movie.
My routine was always the same: I'd grab myself some coffee from the Starbucks machine in the corner, then find the most secluded desk, preferably a booth. I liked the first floor best because you could eat and drink there. The rules became stricter on each floor - you couldn't eat on the second, but you could drink as long as it was from a bottle with a lid. Absolutely no food or drink permitted on the third. As long as the first floor had coffee machines and a vending machine stocked with toffee cookies, I was all good. Unfortunately, the rules on noise also increased by floor, and so I was on the loudest and most unregulated. No matter, that's why earphones were invented.
As soon as the dinosaur of a computer had turned on, I'd pop on some music. If I needed to get into a certain mood to write, I'd pick something more specific (The Shining soundtrack is excellent for horror and dread) but otherwise I'd set up Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook on Youtube, and get to work. To this day, the album still reminds me of those rainy, carefree nights.
2. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey
I remember hearing this and thinking, here is a future classic. I'm 85% sure Ultraviolence will come to be regarded as a masterpiece of modern times, and it makes me feel pretty damn smug to have called it. I hadn't expected much. I wasn't a Born to Die fan, and Paradise was merely good (though I loved Ride, and Gods & Monsters and American were decent). I didn't even like Ultraviolence when I first heard it. It was slow and boring and all the songs sounded the same. And then one day, I just got it. It's an incredible throwback to the Sixties and Seventies, when albums were a thirty five minute experience and not just a collection of singles. Not that Ultraviolence is without its standout tracks; Shades of Cool is the greatest, weirdest Bond song that never was, and West Coast was the best single of 2014.
With this album, Lana has proven not only her fantastic voice, but her ability to use it to manipulate the listener, evoking any damn feeling or mood she wants. At times she is whispery and vulnerable, purring with affected sensuality, at others slow and dripping with braggadocio. To me, this is what makes a great singer - it has nothing to do with vocal range or hitting the high notes. Her vocal delivery tells as much of the story as her lyrics. And I love characters in pop music. From Prince to Gaga to Bowie, they just make an overplayed game more interesting.
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3. LA Woman - The Doors
Liverpool isn't much like Los Angeles. God knows why this album brings me back to wandering the streets of Scouseland at night. I listened to it on my midnight wanders, sure, but I also listened to the I Love You, Beth Cooper soundtrack and Drake Bell. So why does LA Woman yank up memories of traipsing to the Tesco Express round the corner for pizza, red wine and cans of Monster, before spending the night locked in my shitty room, alternating writing and staring at the walls I'd turned into huge mood boards? (Not mentioned: paranoid Google searches of 'can you OD on energy drinks?' at 3am.)
Something about hearing Jim Morrison growling DRIVING DOWN YOUR FREEWAY and Ray Manzarek hitting those keys livens me up from the inside. My brain associates The Doors with nervous, rampant energy and manic creativity. They sort of induce a caffeine-like effect on my system. That's the kind of focus their music gives me; it increases productivity, enhances concentration and energises my soul. To be honest, I probably could have left the Monster on the shelf at Tesco and saved myself a couple of quid and a few hours worth of anxiety. Oh, and yes, energy drinks can kill you. And yes, I'd consumed a potentially fatal amount of caffeine. RISIN', RISIN'.
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4. In Utero - Nirvana
The ugly, elitist side of me considered skipping this one from the list. It seemed too obvious, and there are so many fake fans out there. You know who I mean: the ones who buy smiley-faced Nirvana t-shirts at Forever 21, tie a flannel shirt around their waists and call themselves a 'huge fan'. The ones who think it's super-cool Kurt killed himself. I really don't want to be lumped in with these people. But you know what's lamer than pretending to like a band for the cool points? Pretending not to for the cool points. And so In Utero enters the list.
I was always a casual Nirvana fan, but it wasn't until my first year of university I really began to listen. I'd spend my days either sleeping or exploring the city after lectures (or during - my attendance record wasn't the best), and by night I'd either write or get out on the streets to listen to music and people watch. I like the vibe of night better. People are different. I was living just off Hope Street, and opposite my flat was the Metropolitan Cathedral. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd climb up the stairs in front of the cathedral and sit at the top. You could see the whole city from up there. I'd drink 45p cans of knockoff Vimto and watch the night fall over Liverpool. Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle came on shuffle, and for the first time, I really heard the lyric 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. and yet it was exactly how I'd been feeling for years, ever since I 'trained' myself not to be depressed. This might seem a strange reason for inclusion on a list of albums that make me smile. But in that moment, high up above Liverpool and as physically alone as you can be in the city, I felt that someone else knew how I feel.
People talk about pain and depression as if it will make you some great artist. As if your work will be infected with originality and a special rawness. As if depression is okay because it has an up side, too. But how can art ever be raw when depression dulls the depth of feeling until I'm no longer capable of expressing myself at all, artistically or otherwise? I think that's why I latched on to Nirvana so hard after that night at the Met. Kurt was singing these things and expressing everything for me, because I was unable to do it myself.
1. Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook - Ella Fitzgerald
I'm a night writer, for sure. I used to spend a lot of my nights in the library - not for the books, of which there were surprisingly few, but for a quiet place to write without distraction. I'd usually sleep all day, and then walk to the library, a few streets away from my grubby flat, at about 10pm. It was almost always raining, and so I'd turn up with a tangle of black curls on top of my head and eyeliner dripping down my cheeks. I probably looked like a ghost from a Japanese horror movie.
My routine was always the same: I'd grab myself some coffee from the Starbucks machine in the corner, then find the most secluded desk, preferably a booth. I liked the first floor best because you could eat and drink there. The rules became stricter on each floor - you couldn't eat on the second, but you could drink as long as it was from a bottle with a lid. Absolutely no food or drink permitted on the third. As long as the first floor had coffee machines and a vending machine stocked with toffee cookies, I was all good. Unfortunately, the rules on noise also increased by floor, and so I was on the loudest and most unregulated. No matter, that's why earphones were invented.
As soon as the dinosaur of a computer had turned on, I'd pop on some music. If I needed to get into a certain mood to write, I'd pick something more specific (The Shining soundtrack is excellent for horror and dread) but otherwise I'd set up Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook on Youtube, and get to work. To this day, the album still reminds me of those rainy, carefree nights.
2. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey
I remember hearing this and thinking, here is a future classic. I'm 85% sure Ultraviolence will come to be regarded as a masterpiece of modern times, and it makes me feel pretty damn smug to have called it. I hadn't expected much. I wasn't a Born to Die fan, and Paradise was merely good (though I loved Ride, and Gods & Monsters and American were decent). I didn't even like Ultraviolence when I first heard it. It was slow and boring and all the songs sounded the same. And then one day, I just got it. It's an incredible throwback to the Sixties and Seventies, when albums were a thirty five minute experience and not just a collection of singles. Not that Ultraviolence is without its standout tracks; Shades of Cool is the greatest, weirdest Bond song that never was, and West Coast was the best single of 2014.
3. LA Woman - The Doors
Liverpool isn't much like Los Angeles. God knows why this album brings me back to wandering the streets of Scouseland at night. I listened to it on my midnight wanders, sure, but I also listened to the I Love You, Beth Cooper soundtrack and Drake Bell. So why does LA Woman yank up memories of traipsing to the Tesco Express round the corner for pizza, red wine and cans of Monster, before spending the night locked in my shitty room, alternating writing and staring at the walls I'd turned into huge mood boards? (Not mentioned: paranoid Google searches of 'can you OD on energy drinks?' at 3am.)
Something about hearing Jim Morrison growling DRIVING DOWN YOUR FREEWAY and Ray Manzarek hitting those keys livens me up from the inside. My brain associates The Doors with nervous, rampant energy and manic creativity. They sort of induce a caffeine-like effect on my system. That's the kind of focus their music gives me; it increases productivity, enhances concentration and energises my soul. To be honest, I probably could have left the Monster on the shelf at Tesco and saved myself a couple of quid and a few hours worth of anxiety. Oh, and yes, energy drinks can kill you. And yes, I'd consumed a potentially fatal amount of caffeine. RISIN', RISIN'.
4. In Utero - Nirvana
The ugly, elitist side of me considered skipping this one from the list. It seemed too obvious, and there are so many fake fans out there. You know who I mean: the ones who buy smiley-faced Nirvana t-shirts at Forever 21, tie a flannel shirt around their waists and call themselves a 'huge fan'. The ones who think it's super-cool Kurt killed himself. I really don't want to be lumped in with these people. But you know what's lamer than pretending to like a band for the cool points? Pretending not to for the cool points. And so In Utero enters the list.
I was always a casual Nirvana fan, but it wasn't until my first year of university I really began to listen. I'd spend my days either sleeping or exploring the city after lectures (or during - my attendance record wasn't the best), and by night I'd either write or get out on the streets to listen to music and people watch. I like the vibe of night better. People are different. I was living just off Hope Street, and opposite my flat was the Metropolitan Cathedral. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd climb up the stairs in front of the cathedral and sit at the top. You could see the whole city from up there. I'd drink 45p cans of knockoff Vimto and watch the night fall over Liverpool. Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle came on shuffle, and for the first time, I really heard the lyric 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. and yet it was exactly how I'd been feeling for years, ever since I 'trained' myself not to be depressed. This might seem a strange reason for inclusion on a list of albums that make me smile. But in that moment, high up above Liverpool and as physically alone as you can be in the city, I felt that someone else knew how I feel.
People talk about pain and depression as if it will make you some great artist. As if your work will be infected with originality and a special rawness. As if depression is okay because it has an up side, too. But how can art ever be raw when depression dulls the depth of feeling until I'm no longer capable of expressing myself at all, artistically or otherwise? I think that's why I latched on to Nirvana so hard after that night at the Met. Kurt was singing these things and expressing everything for me, because I was unable to do it myself.
Monday 23 July 2018 / advice, publishing, work
The Big Inclusivity Problem in Publishing – and 5 Resources For Those Facing It
I’ve talked before about managing interns at a
publishing company. It’s a hugely oversubscribed industry that so many young
people are looking to get into. It’s deeply unfair in so many ways – most of
the people I encounter are super qualified, with years of (often unpaid)
experience under their belt, and are getting themselves into huge amounts of
debt in order to land an entry-level job. Almost every intern I work with
deserves a full-time job in publishing, but competition even for unpaid positions
is brutal.
There are so many barriers to entry – it’s an industry
notorious for its elitism and lack of diversity. Over 90% of people who worked
in it last year classified themselves as White British, a statistic that is
even more shocking when you realise it’s actually an improvement from four
years ago, when the figure was almost 94%. And the divide is not just a racial
one – whilst I don’t have any official data to back this up, most publishers
seem to be privately educated and grew up in or around London. It really hit
home last year when I, myself, was held up at a company dinner as the proud
product of my company’s commitment to diversity.
Let’s put this into context. I am the middle-class,
university-educated, white daughter of a CEO. I was raised by my
happily-married parents in a six-bedroom house in a leafy suburb. I got where I
am because I walked into jobs offered by family members in high places, and I (allegedly)
got my first role in publishing because the interviewer thought I was pretty. I
am the very definition of privilege. So why did my former boss think my
presence in the office would suffice as ‘diversity’? Because I’m not from
Southern England. Because I ‘ass-k’ questions rather than ‘arsk’ them. It made
me cringe. I thought of my Welsh Filipino friend, Carly, who dreams of becoming
an editorial assistant. I thought of my schoolfriend, Zani, who would give
anything to enter the industry but is black and working class, and so is stuck
writing website copy for a car firm in Birmingham. I’ll never know the
struggles they face every single day.
Considering how left-wing the publishing sector generally
is, it seems odd that this would be the case. But with a year’s interning
experience usually being the basic requirement for even a poorly paid
entry-level position, it’s little wonder that the average publishing
professional seems to be Oxford-educated, Caucasian and with a healthy
inheritance in their future. After all, it’s an almost exclusively
London-centric industry – and who can afford to work unpaid for a year in one
of the world’s priciest cities? Hell, I can barely afford to live here and I’m
lucky enough to have a paid position.
Don’t get me wrong, we publishers are generally a nice
bunch, and we’re all well aware of the problem. We’ve definitely got a long,
long way to go (particularly with ethnic diversity), but there is help out
there for those struggling to find their place in such an exclusive industry.
The lovely folks over at the Northern Fiction Alliance are spearheading a
campaign to break the hold London has on the industry with the aim of
increasing regional diversity and promoting inclusivity. They’re calling on
publishers to do their bit by opening up shop in the North and kicking open
doors for brilliant aspiring publishers from outside London. But if you’re
currently in the dreaded internship stage of your career, what can you do to
make it worth for you?
The Spare Room
Project – If you’re looking to complete an internship but live outside of
London, consider getting in touch with the remarkable people at the Spare Room
Project. I first heard about this through one of our own interns, who wouldn’t
have been able to afford to work for us without this incredible initiative. The
people who run the project believe that no one should be left out because of
where they live, so they match up interns with kind publishing professionals
who have spare rooms in London to offer (for free). This is a brilliant scheme
that really tackles the problem head on.
Home Sweet Loan –
This is a scheme set up by Penguin Random House, and although it’s for
employees rather than interns, I thought I’d mention it anyway. They offer all
of their employees interest-free loans on rental deposits (even those still in
their probation period), which can be paid back monthly through wage
deductions. Particularly useful since the average deposit for a London rental
is a whopping £1830! FYI: PRH are on of the only publishers to accept interns
without degrees, having recently dropped this requirement to be more inclusive.
HarperCollins BAME
Traineeship – HarperCollins has been named one of the best BAME employers
in the country. Their year-long paid traineeships are exclusively for people of
colour. And you don’t even need a degree (or experience)!
Follow @PubInterns
on Twitter – This Twitter account is
run by two former publishing interns (now publishing professionals) dedicated
to ‘fighting the good fight against unpaid internships’. Not only have they
been instrumental in challenging publishers who refuse to pay their interns,
they regularly tweet information about paid internships and entry-level jobs,
as well as offering unwavering support to prospective publishers. Personally, I
think unpaid internships are on the way out, but this is a fantastic place to
find yourself a paid role until then.
Work experience
placements – Rather than committing to an internship, which can be as long
as six months or a year, consider a work experience placement of one or two
weeks instead. Regional publishers tend to be tiny and unable to commit to
full-time paid internships, but they might be willing to offer you a week’s
worth of voluntary work. It’s definitely
not ideal, but it’s far better to be able to gain experience nearby and live at
home than to relocate to London for no money! Small, local publishers probably
won’t advertise work experience, but it can’t hurt to drop them an email and
ask what they can offer you.
Friday 1 June 2018 / film, review
Forgotten Film Friday: After Dark, My Sweet
Back before Jason Patric was fighting for dads’ rights, he was busy brooding in James Foley’s sun-bleached noir. A poetic and strangely hypnotic take on the classic genre, After Dark, My Sweet is a slow-boiling poker game of a film.
Patric’s drifter, Collie, hot out of the mental institute, is picked up by alcoholic widow Fay (Rachel Ward) in a bar. Allowing him to live in a trailer at the bottom of her dried up yard, the pair soon become caught up in a kidnapping plot. Orchestrating the clumsy scheme is Uncle Bud, played with creepy flair by Bruce Dern. When the trio finally manage to steal the right child, things quickly disintegrate and they begin to question their trust in each other.
Patric gives the performance of his career as the mixed up ex-boxer; the shrewdness and aptitude for violence Collie represses fights to break out from under his veil of restraint and dim-witted sensitivity. Ward, the femme fatale to his smoldering anti-hero, is as alluring and tragic as the noir heroines that precede her. The sunny colour palette and Palm Springs setting freshen up the moody, paranoid tones and taut sexual tension that pervade the narrative. A feverishly sensuous film that artfully taps into human loneliness, After Dark, My Sweet has been overlooked for too long. This is an absolute gem and a solid entry in the neo-noir genre.
Thursday 10 May 2018 / john lennon, music
Ten Underappreciated John Lennon songs
...because there's more to the Smart Beatle than just Imagine, you know?
Steel and Glass (from Walls
and Bridges)
Probably the only song in Lennon's catalogue to
rival the better-known How Do You Sleep in nastiness, Steel
and Glass is a delightfully seething fuck-you to his former manager,
Allen Klein. With cruel lines like 'your mother left you when you were small /
but you're gonna wish you weren't born at all', John's at his best when he's
angry, and boy is he angry here.
I'm Losing You (from Double
Fantasy)
This is undoubtedly one of Lennon's best-written
songs. His fear and confusion about his relationship with Yoko Ono manifests
itself, as it so often does, as anger in this intense, paranoid gem from his
final album. The sound is so tight, so tense, that listening to it evokes
anxiety in me. Great vocals, too!
I Know (I Know) (from Mind
Games)
He dismissed this song as a 'piece of nothing',
but it's a top-five Lennon track for me. Something I find in a lot of his more
ostensibly tender songs, like Oh Yoko! and Grow Old
With Me, is an underlying sadness and pain, though it's possible I'm
allowing his eventual murder to colour my perception, of course. I hear it in
this song too, which sounds so bittersweet to me. Lennon uses simple statements
- 'no more crying, no more crying', 'today, I love you more than yesterday' -
to convey deeper themes such as forgiveness and empathy. I like the theory that
he wrote this for Paul - it wouldn't be the first time he referenced Beatles
songs (Yesterday, Getting Better) to send him a message (see: How
Do You Sleep).
Surprise, Surprise (Sweet
Bird of Paradox) (from Walls and Bridges)
No one ever talks about this song! It definitely
misses the powerful emotion that drives some of his better-received tracks
like Mother and God, but what it lacks in
intensity, it makes up for in groove and fun. Whilst distinctly
Lennon-sounding, the lyrics are almost Paul McCartney-esque ('just like a
willow tree/ a breath of spring you see). Plus it's got Elton John on backing
vocals! Definitely not his best or most powerful track, but a very entertaining
listen nonetheless.
You Are Here (from Mind
Games)
This is one of his most relaxed, pretty songs.
When I think of his post-Beatles career, I tend to think more of songs like
this and Bless You - vaguely philosophical, meandering tracks
- than rockier numbers like Cold Turkey and Remember. He
famously hated his singing voice, but the raw thinness of it works well with
this kind of song.
Remember (from John
Lennon/Plastic Ono Band)
So many of Lennon's best songs are based around
one word, almost like a mantra: Imagine, God, Love,
Isolation, Woman, Mother and this one, Remember. I always
forget how good this one is until I hear it. Perfectly placed on the album
right before the much softer Love, the juxtaposition is
beautiful and disorienting. Great drumming from Ringo on this one, too!
Nobody Told Me (from Milk
and Honey)
I love this song! It's much less vulnerable than
most of his songs, but doesn't suffer for it. Taking inspiration from classic
poetry - and his own UFO sighting! - it's a jaunty little tune that was
originally meant for Ringo Starr. Calling a top-five hit 'underrated' could be
a bit of a stretch, but the song seems to have been largely forgotten with
time.
Out The Blue (from Mind
Games)
You can probably tell I'm a big Mind
Games fan. This serene, grateful song is less emotionally searing
than most of his songs, but doesn’t suffer for it at all. This type of song is
underrated in the Lennon canon in favour of louder songs like Instant Karma, not least of all by John
himself. Lyrics such as ‘it had to be – two minds, one destiny’ and ‘I survived
long enough to make you my wife’ express the very Lennon-esque sentiment that
he was awakened or ‘saved’ by Yoko and their love for each other.
Look at Me (from Plastic Ono Band)
I love the ethereal double-tracked vocals on
this pretty song. He’s vulnerable, asking for help and begging ‘please look at
me, my love’. He’s pleading for guidance with lyrics such as ‘here I am. What
am I supposed to do?’ It’s something I find so interesting about Lennon. He was
so opinionated, so self-centred, so uninterested in what anyone else thought,
and yet it’s clear from his songs that he looks for validation from others,
particularly women.
Hold On (from Plastic Ono Band)
This could have easily made it onto The Beatles’
Let It Be album. The bass line is
fantastic, while the simple, universal message of ‘hold on, it’s going to be
all right’ is surprisingly positive for such a lyrically bleak album. People
always talk about John’s ability as a lyricist, but in many ways, I think he’s
actually underrated in that department; he has the rare gift of being able to
say so much by saying so little. Think of songs like Strawberry Fields Forever –‘no one, I think, is in my tree’ may be
my favourite line in any song.
Saturday 3 February 2018 / books, film
Breakfast at Tiffany's is a shit movie - admit it
This year, I decided to have my first New Year’s Eve night in in, well, ever. With a house to myself and otherwise faced with somewhat shit options, I decided to relax. A bubble bath, girly magazines, white wine, a bit of antipasti, maybe a face mask or two, and a Sex and the City binge. A proper basic bitch girly evening, finished off with one of those posh fruit tarts from Sainsbury’s patisserie and a viewing of the ultimate girl movie: Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
I’d never seen it before. I know. I think I’d been put off by the oversaturation of the Holly Golightly legend; the dorm room posters, the pearls-and-cigarette-holder Halloween costumes, that horrendous nineties song. But it seemed my time had come – it is a damn stylish movie, after all: those trench coats, and that wide-brimmed hat! And don’t tell anyone, but Moon River (the Andy Williams version) is one of my all-time favourite songs, and the book by Truman Capote is one of the greatest novellas of the 20th century. Capote is unfuckupable, right? Well, actually, no. There’s certainly a charm and romance to the film, but it’s aged very badly. Much eye-rolling ensued.
So without further ado, here is why your favourite movie sucks and why all copies of the DVD should be burnt immediately.
The painfully racist portrayal of Mr Yunioshi
You knew this one was coming. White actor Mickey Rooney’s role as Holly’s Japanese landlord is widely considered offensive, spawning protests at screenings and even getting the film labelled the second most racist of all time by Complex, behind only Birth of a Nation. The character would have been offensive even if played by an actual Japanese man – he’s a shallow stereotype, perpetually angry and unintelligible.
He serves no real purpose to the plot and is there purely for the audience to laugh at. The worst part is, his character is barely even in the novella; it’s Madam Spanella who is constantly furious with Holly. The filmmakers actually went out of their way to add this incredibly offensive character into the film.
Holly Golightly is an animal abuser
Why does no one ever talk about this? Admittedly, she’s not much kinder to her cat in the book, but the movie takes it further. She literally throws the poor thing across the room for no reason at one point, and then later cruelly dumps it on the streets of New York. In the book, the nameless cat finds a new (and presumably much more loving) home at the end, but unfortunately for Movie Kitty, she manages to track him down. In the book, the narrator rightly calls her a bitch for this, but in the movie he tells her he loves her and they finally share a passionate kiss. What is this? Not that Paul’s much of a prize himself… I guess they deserve each other.
Paul/Fred is a dick
This is another point I’m surprised isn’t talked about more. Movie Paul is an absolute shit; a misogynistic, entitled shit. More than once, he tells Holly he owns her because he loves her and refuses to listen to her when she tells him she doesn’t feel the same, becoming enraged. So gross. Not only that, but he’s incredibly judgmental about her lifestyle, despite the fact that he too is implied to be a sex worker! Even more explicitly than she is, in fact!
Another infuriating thing about the movie is that later in the same scene, she decides she does in fact love him back and he gets the girl – he’s literally rewarded for his chauvinism and Holly’s own autonomy is eroded into nothing. I think that’s the most frustrating thing about the film; the whole point of the story is that Holly’s this wild bird who can’t be caged – untameable – yet the movie ending destroys all of this. In the end, she’s domesticated by Paul. By shunning her own free-spirited nature, she gets the man! Yay! This might work if portrayed as tragic or bittersweet, but it’s supposed to be romantic. A happy ending! In contrast, Book Holly flees to Brazil, never reunites with the cat and is never romantically involved with the narrator, who is suggested to be gay.
It's just boring
Look, the film was made in 1961. I get that times have changed. But Book Holly has so much more spice! She gets knocked up by her best friend’s man. She’s a prostitute! She travels the world, leaving behind only rumours in New York City. She won't let any man tame her. So much of the novella was sanitised for screen, including suggestion of childhood sexual abuse and her unexpected advocation for gay marriage (in a book written in the Fifties!). At the end of the day, to me at least, the movie just comes off as a bit of a generic film masquerading as a classic.
I'm not normally one for remakes, but I'd love to see a modern adaptation - provided it's a new interpretation of the novella and not a remake of the original film. The film is too iconic, it's imagery too entrenched in contemporary pop culture that a new Breakfast at Tiffany's starring a gamine MPDG in an LBD would be too cringeworthy for words, but the book itself has a lot of cinema potential. Take it back to the original 1940s setting, bring back the darker aspects of the written story, and remove the unnecessary romance in favour of the much more interesting relationship the characters share in the book. One can dream!
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