Chris Knipp
08-18-2006, 02:49 AM
Patrick Stettner: The Night Listener (2006)
Losing the magic of words
WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS
It's always interesting to see what happens when a novel is made into a film. Armistead Maupin's novel, The Night Listener, is about a depressed gay man, Gabriel Noone, with a beloved late night radio talk show (in the novel it's in San Francisco, of course, but the movie will transfer him to NYC) in which for years he has successfully mined his own experiences to tell enthralling stories. Gabe's younger lover Jess, whom he's nursed with AIDS for over a decade, is much better now and has moved out "to have some space," leaving Gabe so miserable for a while he can't face his life or do the show any more. At this point a manuscript is dropped into his lap that purports to be the autobiography of a thirteen-year-old boy who was subjected to horrific sexual abuse as a child, which he somehow managed to survive to become this amazing young writer. The precocious boy, Pete Logand, who lives in Wisconsin, is a big fan of Noone, and a long-distance telephone relationship between Pete and Gabe develops that pulls Gabe out of his depression (sort of) as he begins to be caught up in Pete's story and become a father figure for him. And Pete recognizes Gabe's gayness and asks about Jess. Feeling abandoned by Jess, Gabe begins to compensate by caring deeply about Pete, even though he's never seen him. Pete's foster mother, Donna, also enters the picture and sometimes talks too. Talking to others, Gabriel Noone begins to wonder if Pete is actually real, or invented by Donna. Pete's and Donna's voices sound awfully similar. And could a teenager have produced a book that's so superbly written and wise? Gabe goes out to Wisconsin to get to the bottom of the mystery, and a strange little series of adventures happens.
The book is about voices and words and the way they spur the imagination and inspire feelings, and about doubt and the need to love and the mystery of what we can't see. It's a quiet tale about tale-telling that one ponders slowly. The essence of Maupin's story, which was a bestseller, is that Gabe never sees Pete.
Robin Williams gives a touching performance as Noone; it's a little bit one-note -- he gets the depression and the sadness right; but there isn't much else, except a little yelling, at Jess, played with his usual warmth by Bobby Carnavale. The powerful Toni Colette is Donna. And Rory Culkin is Pete.
This is where the movie becomes a movie and departs essentially, and not very successfully, from the novel. The radio show and the manuscript of Pete's autobiography and the phone conversations are the book's essential elements, and they're all a matter of words without images. But the movie can't be made solely of words as Maupin's novel obviously and importantly is. In "opening up" the book, as it were, into a movie, the filmmakers felt it necessary to let us "see" Pete. This youngest of the remarkable Culkin boys, as sly and ironic as his brother Kieran was in Igby Goes Down but with the appropriate edge of pale sadness (besides the terrifying childhood, he's now apparently dying of lung disease), is so good we wish we could see a lot more of him. The trouble is the "seeing" isn't real, as far as we can tell. But it looks quite real. This in cinematic terms is cheating, and it's confusing.
The most important developmental element of Maupin's creation -- the novel, that is -- is the way the telephone conversations lead Gabe Noone to believe in Pete and care a lot about him, even though Gabe (and we) are destined never to know for sure if Pete exists. The movie skips quickly through these essential early stages of the tale -- the strong mood of depression; the reading; the talking; the growing belief and caring; condensing the autobiographical passages and the phone conversations into brief glimpses. As a result Gabe's passion for Pete seems to develop too fast -- so we can move on to the "action" -- Gabe's trip to Wisconsin. It's almost as if this big concluding segment were part of another movie, whose beginning we've missed. This is partly true in the novel. The two segments are quite separate. But the earlier one is very throoughgoing, where in the movie it isn't.
Under Patrick Stettner's direction The Night Listener becomes spookier and scarier. Instead of whispering in your ear it shrieks. Toni Colette as Donna is a crone out of a horror movie, and Robin Williams comes to seem like a film noir hero -- an innocent guy who's turned unwillingly into a villain. There's a final scene with Colette that gives us the answer -- but the book didn't. Was this necessary? I don't think so. Stettner gives us plenty of creepy mood, but somehow that mood is spoiled somewhat by our seeing everything. There are really essential elements in the novel that rely on not seeing. You have to wonder if this was a suitable book to adapt on screen. But it might have been done differently, in a quieter, smaller film that would have been true to the book's essential mystery. Shakespeare's plays don't need elaborate sets, because the words paint all the pictues we need. Maupin's book isn't Shakespeare, but it celebrates the power of words and the unseen just as much.
The fact that Donna turns out to be blind somehow symbolizes, in the novel, the way Gabe himself in effect is blind -- blinded by his need to love someone and his lack of concrete knowledge. In the movie, the blindness doesn't feel symbolic; it's simply creepy. With its dingy motels and ringing phones and crones, the movie version of The Night Listener becomes some kind of strange evocation of Hitchcock's Psycho, but without the finesse or the genius. Robin Williams shows a lot of restraint here, but his subtlety is rendered less effective by the fact that his feelings aren't allowed to breathe, because he's rushed into the horror-movie finale. Colette is riveting, but her character is more garish than puzzling. Carnavale as the lover in his big fleshiness is unsubtle but very present; Sandra Oh as usual shines. Everybody's good, but none of it quite rings true. Maupin's story is a psychological enigma, a mood piece and a meditation. The movie is something not quite formed, halfway between the novel and something else but not quite either.
Losing the magic of words
WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS
It's always interesting to see what happens when a novel is made into a film. Armistead Maupin's novel, The Night Listener, is about a depressed gay man, Gabriel Noone, with a beloved late night radio talk show (in the novel it's in San Francisco, of course, but the movie will transfer him to NYC) in which for years he has successfully mined his own experiences to tell enthralling stories. Gabe's younger lover Jess, whom he's nursed with AIDS for over a decade, is much better now and has moved out "to have some space," leaving Gabe so miserable for a while he can't face his life or do the show any more. At this point a manuscript is dropped into his lap that purports to be the autobiography of a thirteen-year-old boy who was subjected to horrific sexual abuse as a child, which he somehow managed to survive to become this amazing young writer. The precocious boy, Pete Logand, who lives in Wisconsin, is a big fan of Noone, and a long-distance telephone relationship between Pete and Gabe develops that pulls Gabe out of his depression (sort of) as he begins to be caught up in Pete's story and become a father figure for him. And Pete recognizes Gabe's gayness and asks about Jess. Feeling abandoned by Jess, Gabe begins to compensate by caring deeply about Pete, even though he's never seen him. Pete's foster mother, Donna, also enters the picture and sometimes talks too. Talking to others, Gabriel Noone begins to wonder if Pete is actually real, or invented by Donna. Pete's and Donna's voices sound awfully similar. And could a teenager have produced a book that's so superbly written and wise? Gabe goes out to Wisconsin to get to the bottom of the mystery, and a strange little series of adventures happens.
The book is about voices and words and the way they spur the imagination and inspire feelings, and about doubt and the need to love and the mystery of what we can't see. It's a quiet tale about tale-telling that one ponders slowly. The essence of Maupin's story, which was a bestseller, is that Gabe never sees Pete.
Robin Williams gives a touching performance as Noone; it's a little bit one-note -- he gets the depression and the sadness right; but there isn't much else, except a little yelling, at Jess, played with his usual warmth by Bobby Carnavale. The powerful Toni Colette is Donna. And Rory Culkin is Pete.
This is where the movie becomes a movie and departs essentially, and not very successfully, from the novel. The radio show and the manuscript of Pete's autobiography and the phone conversations are the book's essential elements, and they're all a matter of words without images. But the movie can't be made solely of words as Maupin's novel obviously and importantly is. In "opening up" the book, as it were, into a movie, the filmmakers felt it necessary to let us "see" Pete. This youngest of the remarkable Culkin boys, as sly and ironic as his brother Kieran was in Igby Goes Down but with the appropriate edge of pale sadness (besides the terrifying childhood, he's now apparently dying of lung disease), is so good we wish we could see a lot more of him. The trouble is the "seeing" isn't real, as far as we can tell. But it looks quite real. This in cinematic terms is cheating, and it's confusing.
The most important developmental element of Maupin's creation -- the novel, that is -- is the way the telephone conversations lead Gabe Noone to believe in Pete and care a lot about him, even though Gabe (and we) are destined never to know for sure if Pete exists. The movie skips quickly through these essential early stages of the tale -- the strong mood of depression; the reading; the talking; the growing belief and caring; condensing the autobiographical passages and the phone conversations into brief glimpses. As a result Gabe's passion for Pete seems to develop too fast -- so we can move on to the "action" -- Gabe's trip to Wisconsin. It's almost as if this big concluding segment were part of another movie, whose beginning we've missed. This is partly true in the novel. The two segments are quite separate. But the earlier one is very throoughgoing, where in the movie it isn't.
Under Patrick Stettner's direction The Night Listener becomes spookier and scarier. Instead of whispering in your ear it shrieks. Toni Colette as Donna is a crone out of a horror movie, and Robin Williams comes to seem like a film noir hero -- an innocent guy who's turned unwillingly into a villain. There's a final scene with Colette that gives us the answer -- but the book didn't. Was this necessary? I don't think so. Stettner gives us plenty of creepy mood, but somehow that mood is spoiled somewhat by our seeing everything. There are really essential elements in the novel that rely on not seeing. You have to wonder if this was a suitable book to adapt on screen. But it might have been done differently, in a quieter, smaller film that would have been true to the book's essential mystery. Shakespeare's plays don't need elaborate sets, because the words paint all the pictues we need. Maupin's book isn't Shakespeare, but it celebrates the power of words and the unseen just as much.
The fact that Donna turns out to be blind somehow symbolizes, in the novel, the way Gabe himself in effect is blind -- blinded by his need to love someone and his lack of concrete knowledge. In the movie, the blindness doesn't feel symbolic; it's simply creepy. With its dingy motels and ringing phones and crones, the movie version of The Night Listener becomes some kind of strange evocation of Hitchcock's Psycho, but without the finesse or the genius. Robin Williams shows a lot of restraint here, but his subtlety is rendered less effective by the fact that his feelings aren't allowed to breathe, because he's rushed into the horror-movie finale. Colette is riveting, but her character is more garish than puzzling. Carnavale as the lover in his big fleshiness is unsubtle but very present; Sandra Oh as usual shines. Everybody's good, but none of it quite rings true. Maupin's story is a psychological enigma, a mood piece and a meditation. The movie is something not quite formed, halfway between the novel and something else but not quite either.