Adapting a Novel to Film

By Kate Fitzgerald

You’ve found a great story. You’ve optioned the rights, (which we will explore in Part II of this article next month), and now you’re wondering how to transform a 350 page novel into a 120 page screenplay. You stare blankly at the screen on your laptop. What comes next?

The task now is to find the visual story hiding among all those words. To do that, you must first fix in your mind the difference between a film story and a written story. Film comes at us with sound and color and movement. We discover the story as the images go by. We are swept up in an intense, two-hour experience, enhanced by the theater’s cloak of darkness. A novel, by contrast, plays out entirely in our mind, where our inner eyes transform the words into mental pictures. Our sense of discovery, those little ‘ah ha’ moments, may be less intense with the written word, but it’s still satisfying, and often in a more personal way. And where a novel can go on for page after page inside the hero’s head, a film must show continuous action that moves the story forward. There can be no meandering digressions in a film like there is in a novel. Films and novels are, simply put, not the same thing.

All film stories are about a sympathetic hero who wants something, and who must overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles to get it. Kitty, in The Painted Veil, wants to marry for love, and not social convenience as dictated by society. In Erin Brockovich, Erin wants to win the lawsuit against utility giant PG&E. The hero must elicit our emotions with her determination and courage. Her goal must be worthy, so we can understand why she is willing to go up against the obstacles that stand in her way. Along this path, the hero must undergo personal change. We must see a maturing of the character flaw that got her in this situation in the first place. This is important because our satisfaction comes in learning, by the hero’s example, how to solve the thorny problems of life. Did I mention the ticking clock? On top of everything else, your hero’s up against a deadline that’s coming at her like a buzz saw.

A novel, or work of non-fiction, does not have to follow these rules. It can introduce the hero with a bit of action on page one, and then it can spend the next 30 pages inside the hero’s head. How do you film that? You can’t. But you can find the visual story hiding within the novel’s structure. Novels do have three acts, an inciting incident, plot-points, confrontations with the antagonist, and all the whistles and bells of film structure. They just do it within our minds, and not in front of our eyes.

Where’s a good place to start your deconstruction? Begin by taking a look at a few successful adaptations. In the writing classes I teach, I use The Painted Veil, by Ron Nyswaner (2006), as an example, because it is a masterful adaptation. Watch this film, starring Edward Norton and Naomi Watts. Then read the novella by Somerset Maugham. Seeing the film first will reinforce the story as seen through Nyswaner’s eyes. In this way, the visual impact of the film will stay with you during the reading. The contrast between what Nyswaner kept, and what he left out, will jump out at you.

Next, make a list of those things that jump out at you. Study the list. Think about the scenes and dialogue Nyswaner kept, and why. Now, look at the time and place. What was going on then? The Painted Veil is set in the 1920s and focuses on the damage done by the strict social mores that regulated marriage back then. Infidelity is an accident waiting to happen in that milieu, and Maugham opens with it.

Nyswaner begins with the lead characters and enlarges the relationship between them. For a film story, you must have two strong leading characters, and at least two strong supporting characters. In the novella, Maugham puts Kitty’s husband, Walter Fane, on stage only as he needs him to advance Kitty’s story. When Kitty and Walter are in China, in the midst of the cholera epidemic, we don’t get to see Walter slaving away to save the villagers. We only see him in this setting when he’s dying.

But Nyswaner changes all of that. He brings on the cholera. He shows the villagers lying on cots, some dying, others writhing in pain. He shows Walter entering the hospital ward for the first time, and gagging at the smell. And yet, Walter plunges on in. How powerful is that for defining character and engaging our sympathy? Nyswaner opens up the story further by adding the redemptive elements of love and forgiveness to Kitty’s infidelity. He then has Kitty and Walter come to terms with who they really are, and then has them fall passionately in love. And he has them do it right in the middle of this wretched cholera epidemic, set inside a strange land that’s roiling in political turmoil. Now that’s a movie.

Study The Painted Veil as an example to follow. Compare the film’s narrative arc with the structure in the novella. When examined this way, the sharp contrast between what works in the film, and what works in the novel, soon becomes apparent. This will help you to begin to think in a cinematic way, and you will start to see film possibilities in every story you read.

If the book you’ve optioned is a bestseller, try to remain as true to the idea of the original story as possible, in order to satisfy the readers. Presumably, the book’s fans will be the first ticket buyers crowding the box office on opening day, as witness those long lines of Twilight groupies. Remaining true to the work while crafting a good film story can be a challenge. But many bestsellers like Twilight already have a structure that is more suitable to adaptation because more and more novelists, like Stephenie Meyer, visualize their scenes in vivid detail before they write the first word.

When adapting a biography, follow the same arc as you would with a fictional story. But because you are dealing with a story about a larger-than-life personality, which probably follows it’s subject from cradle to grave, you must reduce the scope of the work. The key, in this instance, is to find the most logical place to start a film story. Usually that will be right at the point when the person’s life changed 180 degrees. What put him on his path? What brought him to his moment in the sun?

Susannah Grant’s script for Erin Brockovich is a great example of keeping the focus on the hero and her goal. Grant narrowed the story to just what we need to know about Erin before she sets off to win the lawsuit. When Grant’s script opens, we know Erin needs a job, that she is smart, she has young children, she is divorced, and she’s broke. But we never find out about her parents, or where she went to school, or even about her ex-husbands. We don’t need to know any of that to understand who Erin is, and why she’s willing to make personal sacrifices in order to help the residents of Hinckley.

Whether your source material is a work of fiction or non-fiction, begin by looking for the visual story hidden within the words. Think cinematically. Remember, all film stories are about a sympathetic hero who wants something, and to achieve it, he must overcome seemingly insurmountable odds to get it. Think about the needs of the characters. Enlarge the relationship between the lead characters. Add supporting characters to add tension and depth to your narrative. Remember, a written work will have a readership that expects to recognize the story you put up on the screen. But don’t be afraid to add or subtract from it to make it more visually satisfying. If you meet the demands of the medium, you’ll succeed brilliantly.

The Hero's Journey for Screenwriters

Part I

Ever since Joseph Campbell’s epic work The Hero With a Thousand Faces was published in 1949, novelists and screenwriters have relied on it as the definitive blueprint to crafting well-structured, successful stories. Campbell’s work is concerned with the common pattern he found in the tales from ancient mythology. Campbell called this pattern the Monomyth, a term he borrowed from James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake. Today, writers have come to know it as “the Hero’s Journey.” It’s the map of the road the Hero travels to accomplish his goal. It is the foundation of all successful screenplays and novels.

All stories are about a Hero with a well-defined goal and the obstacles she must overcome in order to achieve that goal. In addition to achieving an outward physical goal, stories are also concerned with the Hero’s growth as a person as she makes her way toward her goal. By the end of the story, the Hero has transformed into a more mature and successful individual. The Hero’s transformation as a person while she simultaneously pursues the physical outer goal is the true essence of story. The specific steps the Hero must take in order to achieve her objective, and in the process, learn the life lesson that transforms her as a person, are present in all successful novels and screenplays.

Suppose you’re a beginning screenwriter with a great idea for a screenplay: a young guy meets a beautiful girl and is so taken by her that he decides she’s The One for him and sets out to win her hand. This is a great start. You’ve got a hero who wants something. You sit down with your laptop and a tall coffee regular from Starbucks and try to figure out what comes next. This is where everybody hits a wall. What is supposed to come next and how do you figure it out for your particular story line?

You start by building the frame to hang your story idea on. If you wanted to build a house, you would first build a frame. You can’t put up walls or install electrical wiring or throw in the kitchen sink until the framing is up. This is also true for screenplays. But before you do that, you need a blueprint. We can make one by deconstructing the screenplay from the hit comedy Legally Blonde.

Act I. The Ordinary World

All films, with the exception of frame stories like Titanic, open with the Hero in his or her usual life situation. Why? Because we have to learn who they are, what they do, and what their dreams are. What are they longing for? What is bothering them? And more importantly, we have to begin to identify with them. All Heroes begin by being in a situation that isn’t really good for them, even if they don’t know it yet.

Legally Blonde opens with our Hero, Elle Woods, receiving a card wishing her good luck on her upcoming date with her boyfriend Warner. Elle is in her sorority house bedroom, brushing her hair, and polishing her nails. We know immediately that Elle is a beautiful blonde, ultra feminine, college student. She’s the perfect male fantasy, and judging by the awards around the room, successful in her social life. As we get a little further along, we see that Elle has loyal, caring friends and that while she looks like Malibu Barbie, she’s a Barbie with a Brain. She gracefully turns the tables on a salesgirl who is treating her like, “a dumb blonde with Daddy’s plastic.”

It’s important for us to see that Elle is successful in her world. This helps us identify with her. We know she’s good at what she does by the way she discusses the material and construction of the dress the salesgirl is trying to sell her for full price. Elle correctly identifies the dress as being from ‘last season,’ and says with a knowing smile, “So if you’re trying to sell it to me for full price, you picked the wrong girl.” And then Elle announces her goal: “Girls, this is it. Tonight I’m going to become the future Mrs. Warner Huntington the Third.”

In the next scene, Elle goes on her date with Warner fully expecting that he is about to propose marriage. Instead, Warner tells Elle they must break-up because he really needs someone serious if he’s going to go to Harvard Law School and become a senator by the time he’s 30. Elle is shocked and recapitulates Warner’s words by crying out, “So you’re breaking up with me because I’m too blonde?” Elle returns to her sorority house, having failed at her original goal of returning with an engagement ring.

Now comes the Call to Adventure.

This always happens in Act I. Something has to come along to get the hero headed in a new direction and jolt her from the Ordinary World. For Elle, the Call to Adventure comes when she reads an engagement announcement for Warner’s older brother. He’s going to marry a girl who is a first year student at Yale Law School. In an instant, Elle knows exactly what kind of girl she must become to get Warner back: a law student. Elle has a new goal. The adventure begins. Always look for the point when something with the hero changes, when she makes a decision, as Elle does.

Elle now must do whatever it takes to get into law school. But first she’ll meet with some obstacles aimed at keeping her from embarking on her new adventure. Her parents are the first of many. Her father tells her, “Law school is for people who are boring, and ugly, and serious. And you, Button, are none of those things.” Again, the theme of blonde but dumb gets reinforced. Next, Elle visits her college counselor who tells her Harvard won’t be impressed that she majored in fashion merchandising. And when her friends discover her studying for the LSAT exam they suggest she just take a Percocet to get over it all. But Elle is determined, as all good Heroes are. “Girls, I’m going to Harvard.”

Notice how all the people around the Hero are discouraging her in the beginning of her new quest. The people who occupy the Ordinary World with the Hero will always have a vested interest in keeping the Hero anchored to her place in that world. This is because all change is threatening. Change rearranges the known world and everybody’s place in it, so every Hero meets with resistance.

Notice too, how the dialogue marks these moments. Dialogue is not something you write while waiting to come up with the answer to the question, “What comes next?” Dialogue is a tool that you use to map out and advance the story. We know how hard it is to get into Harvard Law School because Elle’s counselor says, “Harvard? But that’s a top three school.” She tells Elle that in order to get in, she’ll need, “Great recommendations from your professors, a heck of an admissions essay, and at least a 175 on the LSATs.” These three things are Elle’s new obstacles.

Next is the Refusal of the Call. It comes as a quick, subtle action. Elle, in the library being tutored by a sorority sister, breaks her concentration to look out the door at the frat boys having fun during Greek Week. Obviously, she longs to join them. But she has work to do. Her sorority sister taps her pencil on Elle’s notebook and regains her attention. This reminds Elle of her new goal and she refocuses. The Refusal of the Call is always something that harkens back to the Ordinary World. Elle is reminded of her earlier college life when the frat boys dash by the open door, obviously having fun.

The Meeting With the Mentor marks the final movement of Act I.

At this particular point in the story, the meaning of the word mentor is specifically the person who holds the key to the New World. For Elle Woods, the mentor is the law school admissions committee at Harvard.

We first meet them staring with their mouths agape at the frozen image of Elle on their video screen. They are speechless at having just viewed Elle’s admission’s essay video. It’s truly a ‘meeting with the mentor’ of sorts since Elle is present, albeit on film. The members of the committee must now convince the Dean of Admissions that Harvard should take a chance on this girl who is so different from the usual applicant. Again, the theme of the dumb blonde repeats itself. And how do we know the committee members succeed in convincing the Dean of Admissions to accept our Hero? Because the Dean says, “Elle Woods. Welcome to Harvard.”

This line of dialogue marks the end of Act I.

Part II of the Hero's Journey for Screenwriters will be up October 15, 2009.

In the meantime, I recommend the following: Screenplay by Syd Field, The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler, and Writing Screenplays That Sell by Michael Hauge.