Courtesy of The Literary Snob

May Contain Minor Spoilers

From the beginning, I wanted to hate this book. Essentially promoted as “a young girl is tortured by Iranian zealots,” I suspected nothing more than page after page of anti-Iranian propaganda. I hear enough about how evil every other political state is, I don’t more.

It didn’t take long into this memoir, however, to realize that this author was not going to take this angle. Yes, there was the occassional condemnation of the Iranian government, but it was dealt out equally with reminders that similar dictators exist throughout the world in every country. So, I no longer disliked My Life As A Traitor for what it wasn’t. However, I did discover other reasons why this book was disappointing.

My primary complaint regarding this book was the author herself. I am not trying to belittle her experience, because I believe what she experienced was tramatic. At the same time, however, the very fact that she agreed to write this book, and that it is written from the supposed perception of a tortured revolutionary was, in itself, belittling to many who have come before and experienced true horror. Yes, she is placed in a terror-stricken prison. Yes, she was hit many times and beat on a couple occasions. Sure, most of us have no idea what this is like and, for many of us, this may be a fear we’ll never experience. But in the end, Ghahramani was imprisoned for thirty days. She was physically intact. She had not been raped. What exactly was her point in writing this book? If someone wants to read a book about the consequences of being a revolutionary, then there are hundreds of other titles more effective.

To the authors credit, she openly admits many of her flaws. After every hit, every bruise, she concerns herself with her physical appearance; yet, she repeatedly admits her vanity. She spends much of the book lamenting over her cut hair, but again she accepts that this worry is her vanity speaking. She doesn’t understand how she could end up in a place like this, but she acknowledges that she has viewed herself as a Persian Princess much of her life. But knowing these things about herself makes me wonder why she still felt this story worth telling. Perhaps it was the self-important princess mentality showing through.

Even Ghahramani’s methods of describing her torture seemed reduced to naive statements unreflective of the abuse she implies. At one point, she describes herself as “shaking all over, like a child compelled to watch a horror movie.” This is what she compares her torture to? Being in Evin prison is like a child watching It? And this wasn’t the only time that she made such meaningless parallels. My idea of an Iranian revolutionary was unfortunately dilluted. This is where I would’ve loved to know what part the co-writer, Robert Hillman, played in the writing of this book. Unfortunately, no where in the book does it even mention Hillman. Perhaps it is easier to blame him for some of these absurdities.

Ghahramani is a very strong and intelligent young woman. And I can understand why some readers enjoy this book because they see someone strong cracking under the pressure—it’s reassuring. Despite how my rant may imply otherwise, I actually respect the author for admitting her flaws and for being an example of how weak most of us really are. I can respect it, but that doesn’t mean I want to read a memoir about it. Isn’t that why I read fiction? Are there not already thousands of classical works of literature that showcase how weak humanity is? I don’t want that in non-fiction; it doesn’t resonate the same way. When I pick up a non-fiction piece I want to learn or to be inspired. Unfortunately, I was not inspired by the author’s weakness.

But, I did learn many things. And this is where My Life As A Traitor gains whatever credibility it has. Ghahramani’s knowledge helps propel the book past a simple narrative of her prison experience. Chapters alternate between her prison experience, and insights into Persian and Iranian cultures. From these chapters, I was given a better understanding of Persian culture, language, philosophy, education, and history. And though the average reader may find these parts of the book to be boring, I personally found them to be the most successful.

My Life As A Traitor is not a bad book, but it just wasn’t very memorable for me. Though I expected to hate it, in the end what I felt was closer to apathy–not for the author’s story, but for the book itself.

Part two of “East of Eden and Far From East of Eden”
Courtesy of The Literary Snob

And then there is the other.

The thing that most mystifies me about this movie is that Steinbeck was alive when it came out. That he approved it. I am not quite to the point where I believe John Steinbeck was a god, so I am aware that money may have been the chief rational behind supporting this movie, but come on, demand a little artistic integrity.

Yet, the masses have spoken. This is the film of choice. Why? Perhaps it is because James Dean gives a memorable, albeit exaggerated and motiveless, performance as Cal Trask. I found his acting to be over the top, but at least his character somewhat resembled the novel’s namesake.

Aside from Cal, was any one else recognizable? When did Adam become such a prude? Who was that weak motherly woman playing the role of Cathy? Why was Abra not so motherly? Where the hell was Lee? How did this film successfully commandeer the name East of Eden?

This version only covers the last quarter of the novel—essentially the climax. It ignores the development needed to accurately understand these characters and, in doing so, fails to have a point.

Everything that is good and right in me demanded I not finish this film. But I had hope that it would improve. It didn’t. After butchering the whole book, the ending was at least good for the film. God-awful in comparison to the novel’s Timshel, but nonetheless the best way to walk away of this car wreck on the highway of motion pictures.

This film might have been at least bearable if it had a different name, and if its primary characters were not named Adam, Cal, Aron, Abra, and Kate. But in keeping these elements, this film has set up a comparison. And, with its insurmountable disadvantages, it fails miserably.

Part 1 of “East of Eden and Far From East of Eden”
Courtesy of the Literary Snob

When one gives consideration to viewing a film adaptation of their favorite book, it is best to approach with extreme caution. I waited nearly five years after reading John Steinbeck’s East of Eden before even thinking about watching a movie about our beloved Trasks and Hamiltons. In that time I wrote analyses of the book and spent many hours dissecting and discussing this underrated classic with others. And, when it came time to finally see another’s interpretation of this wonderful novel, I wanted to view the best possible version first.

Unfortunately, the best is also hard to come by. The 8-hour mini-series has never been released on DVD, and the VHS copies that were manufactured were done so many years ago that they have largely become a collector’s item. Further, two different versions of the series exists, one which cuts out all the backstory to rob two hours from the final product. In the end, however, I passed my daunting task and was able to find the full version in decent quality (thank God for Interlibrary Loans!)

From the beginning of this film, I was impressed. It obviously wasn’t the special effects or the Little House on the Prairie era appearance of the film that thrilled me; rather, it was the depth of the story being told. Here was a film that was telling a 600-page tale from the beginning. Every detail vital to an understanding of the story, even some I had forgotten from the novel, was included.

The casting for this film was perfect. Although some characters may have had slight physical differences from the descriptions Steinbeck had given them, the alterations were more than acceptable—Cathy may have not been light complected, but no actress could have possibly given her a more snake-like venomous appearance than Jane Seymour, and this detail is what is truly important about Cathy’s demeanor. Every actor exhaustively filled the character role that I had created from my reading of the text. For someone who hasn’t read the book, this may come off as terrible acting—for example Samuel Hamilton’s over dramatization and Lee’s dichotomy of polar opposites—but those familiar with the story will find these elements welcoming.

Seymour presents a startlingly accurate portrayal of the story’s villain, Cathy. She was as equally seductive as she was frightening. Although the make-up required to de-age her and then significantly age her was not entirely believable, Seymour’s acting was. My only regret in Cathy was that a little more emphasis was not placed on her demise and her bottle of Drink Me, but I was nonetheless happy that these details were at least included.

Highlighting Seymour’s character, however, is probably showing my favoritism. Her’s was the character that most gripped my attention during the novel, and it’s no surprise that a movie that so closely parallels the book would do the same. Nearly every actor in this film shined in their role. An exception may be found in Abra who seems a little out-of-place, but her appearance in Steinbeck’s East of Eden seemed disjointed as well.

Although this is probably the most accurate interpretation of this novel that will ever come along, it should be noted that those looking for the most strict interpretation of the book will be disappointed as the details that are not vital to the Trask plot have been cut. Unfortunately, this means much of the Hamilton family has been reduced to those who played a significant role in this part of the story—Samuel and Will.

The entire film builds up to an ending that leaves one with the euphoric and equally tearful conclusion that Steinbeck had used in his novel. My wife, who has never read the book, felt the exact same way. And in our discussion of the film, it seemed that she picked up on the most important themes and elements of the novel—a trait that should be accomplished by any notable film adaptation.

In hindsight, my only regret with this movie was some of the fights scenes: they’re corny. This was especially true of Cathy’s beating at the hands of Mr. Edwards. The air from his swings wasn’t even hitting her, yet she fell in pain. But we cannot expect perfection from a generation that religiously watched Dallas, Dukes of Hazzard, and Love Boat, now can we?

I highly recommend this mini-series to anyone who has the attention to sit through 8-hours of a film. Of course, read the novel first if you haven’t already.

Courtesy of The Literary Snob

Sometimes in our world, it is easy to become apathetic to diagnoses involving the demise of celebrities. After all, it was nearly 20 years ago that Magic Johnson announced he was HIV-positive and retired from basketball; he still looks great. So when I began reading The Last Lecture, I admit I had some doubts. Granted, Randy Pausch is not a traditional celebrity, but he has become quite the Internet icon in recent times. Within the first chapters, Pausch states that doctors gave him 6 months to live. Yet, there I was, nearly a year after the diagnosis, reading the book that the entire nation seemed to have their noses in. Of course I became curious, so I looked on the Internet to find out about Pausch’s current condition. How humbling it was to find out that he had died the day before I began reading his book.

There is some hesitance on my part in providing an honest review of a book written by an individual who very recently lost a battle with pancreatic cancer. Is it somehow insulting to his family or to his memory? Especially since these are his last words—a letter to his wife and children? Although I feel I am somehow stepping into a room of unsophisticated schmucks by doing so, I assure you that my opinion of this book is shaped entirely by its merits and demerits and not by my conscience.

After an introduction into Pausch’s condition and life situations, The Last Lecture read like a series of proverbs. They were short and to the point. Although many of them were enveloped in commonsense, Pausch excellently weaved in stories and images that were memorable. Pausch reminds us what is important in life, an endeavor which he excels at. The examples he gives from his own life are inspiring and useful. I can imagine a whole generation heeding his advice, letting children paint their own bedroom and pouring soda in the backseat of a new car to make a point. Even if the masses think these steps too radical, I believe Pausch would be ecstatic to see one person take a similar approach to life.

Pausch’s personal stories are also The Last Lecture’s lowest points. Pausch knew he had a unique view in life, and this often makes him sound arrogant. Further, much of his proverbial wisdom is reserved for a higher class than his average reader. The average person cannot, unfortunately, afford to walk around with $200 in their wallet and be able to quit their jobs because they have a terminal illness. If I were in a similar morbid situation as Pausch was, I believe I would feel more depressed and inadequate after reading The Last Lecture, knowing what I should do, but being powerless to make it happen.

In the end, I felt that this book was not worth all the hype. It was inspiring, but it was equally a tiresome read. The Last Lecture is an intimate 224-page letter ultimately meant for a dying man’s children. That being said, if I were one of Pausch’s children, I believe that I would hang on every word in this book, find value in every mark—for all the days of my life. And it is in such a power that The Last Lecture becomes so incredibly valuable.

blech

the devil made me do it

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My wife has been bugging me to see this movie for the last couple of years (she’s a child of the 80s), and I have cleverly avoided it all this time. Based on the plot and the pictures shown on the box, and the fact I’ve never cared for Julia Roberts, I had really low expectations for this movie. I was surprised.

I mainly gave in because I was curious about Annabeth Gish’s (The X-Files) performance. Gish was great; and I found an adorableness in her I hadn’t expected. Lili Taylor gave a good performance as well. Julia Roberts was okay, but probably the best I’d ever seen her. The story wasn’t cheesy at all, and, while I expected an 80’s sex romp comedy, the movie was quite modest and dramatic.

Unfortunately, the story just isn’t there. It’s a slice of life (no pizza pun intended) of three girls working at a pizza parlor. Sure interesting things happen in their love lives, but nothing really memorable. Still, I’d call it an above average movie for the time.

Wow, what an improvement from the band who gave us “Marilyn Manson ate my girlfriend.” I don’t believe I’m being too harsh saying the debut album “Relient K” was atrocious. I really love how they have developed.