As the first in what I hope will become a series, I chose Neverwhere as something a little out of the norm, insofar as the order of events goes anyway. In September of 1996, BBC Two aired six episodes of Neverwhere, an unique urban fantasy miniseries following the characters to the very bowels of London and beyond. That same year (and halfway through the miniseries), Neil Gaiman, one of the masterminds behind the story, published a novelization by the same title to great acclaim. Since then, a nine issue comic, written by Mike Carey and illustrated by Glenn Fabry, was published in 2005, no fewer than three theater productions have made it to the stage, and a script for a possible movie has been in production hell since Gaiman himself wrote it in 1999.
Neil Gaiman is first and foremost a writer. Although he has worked on several scripts for films and miscellaneous projects, his novels will always be the brightest points of his career. So while there are some things that work better in film, most of his ideas tend to work best (and really, only) in the form of writing.
With the advent of computer technology solving almost every problem, it’s easy to forget that actors are only human. Frankly, there’s only so many things an actor can do to portray what’s going on underneath the surface without the film resorting to sheer explanation. The best example in this situation is the character Islington, an angel tasked with overseeing London Below. Along with many other impossible descriptions, he is often depicted as having “eyes that have seen the birth of the Milky Way”. My question would be: How would a human actor have a hope of doing this description justice? Well, that’s easy, you might answer, Just use some computer animation to make his eyes seem that way. Problem solved. Well, in my opinion, there are some things computers can do. Others, they only attempt.
There are also a couple of situations regarding the angel Islington that really didn’t come across the way I would expect in the TV series. One in particular is near the end of the book (so what follows might be a spoiler) when the angel is reminded that he is responsible for the tragedy of Atlantis. “It was as though the lid had been pulled off something dark and writhing…in a time of scary things, it was the most frightening thing Richard had seen…[The angel] screamed at them, crazy-scary and uncontrolled, utterly certain in its righteousness, ‘They deserved it.‘” I don’t know about anyone else, but the only thing I got from that scene in the miniseries is that Islington was a little peeved at them. Yet, I have a hard time blaming the actor, because he does an admirable job for what he’s given; it’s just that there’s really only so much he can do without going over the top.
There’s one other character comparison I feel I need to make before moving on and that is one that deals with Hunter. Hunter is exactly what her name implies: deadly, utterly gorgeous, and a complete adrenaline junkie. She is often described as having skin the color of burnt caramel and a totally unplaceable accent. The physical appearance of Hunter is easy enough to portray, but the part of her character that didn’t come across to me is how graceful and natural it is to watch her move. This ease of motion is mentioned quite often in the book and makes me associate Hunter with large cats and how silently and swiftly they can move even through the most difficult terrain. Once again, I don’t blame the actress, as this sort of grace is almost impossible to achieve without years of study. She does a great job with the rest of the character and kept me guessing where exactly that accent is supposed to be from.
When reading through the novel, I found that there’s something intensely visceral and sensual about these descriptions and this story in general. Filmography deals with only two human senses: sight and sound. Obviously these are the most important ones and certainly the ones we use the most in terms of interacting with our surroundings. So when written words cause you to feel a physical reaction, whether it’s a chill down your spine or the memory of a specific scent, you know you’ve got a good book in your hands. Books are interesting in that they create an unique experience for every reader while there’s only so many things people can see differently when watching a movie. There’s parts of this story that you can truly sense with more that what a TV can offer.
The darkness of Knightsbridge is just one example of many found in the book, but it is perhaps the most relevant to my point. “Richard began to understand darkness…” it begins, “darkness as something solid and real…He felt it touch his skin, questing, moving, exploring: gliding through his mind. It slipped into his lungs, behind his eyes, into his mouth…” Anybody else getting the urge to blink or swallow? Maybe take a big breath? While the miniseries handles Knightsbridge as well as one can hope for a low-budget 90′s show, there is only so much a screen can offer in this regard.
But getting back to the original comparison: as much as I’ve built up the novel, there’s definitely something to be said for the miniseries. While it’s true that actors are only human, being human can help to bring characters to life by adding their individual takes on the characters, their relationships with others, and their reactions to certain situations.
For example, I really don’t think there is a good enough phrase to encompass all of Paterson Joseph’s expressions and mannerisms as the Marquis de Carabas. There’s just something about that quirky half-smile and twinkly eyes that the written word doesn’t do justice to. And I don’t know about you guys, but every time I was reminded that Richard, the main character, was Scottish I was thrown for a loop. Yes, it’s mentioned at the beginning of the book, so I really shouldn’t have been surprised, but there’s only so long I can keep a passable Scottish accent in my head. With the actors providing their different accents and mannerisms constantly on screen, it makes the story come to life in a way that would be distracting if it was described all the time in the book.
One other thing that really needs to be said deals with the quality of the miniseries. While I have been speaking in general terms about the written word versus film, this is mainly in relation to what could be, not really what is in terms of the pre-existing series. After watching the series for the first time, I came to the conclusion that it was entertaining and pulled off well considering that it had to have been filmed in the 80′s. Imagine my surprise when I learned it had aired in the middle of the 90′s. The problem with the quality is due to an unfortunate error in the film-making process. The original plan was to shoot the series on video and later “filmise” the footage (i.e. make it appear to have been shot on film). The lighting and shooting directions were made accordingly. However, the filmisation process was never begun and the end result is a series reminiscent of the gaudy 80′s.
Even with this mistake (and sometimes because of it), the series does a remarkable job of bringing this dark underground thriller to life. That said, there are of course some embarrassing moments that low budgets tend to bring. For example, what was the most terrifying scene in the entire book for me, when Richard is forced to face the Great Beast of London alone, became something a little funny but mostly a huge letdown in the miniseries. Obviously this is one of those scenes that will never be as cool as it is in the book, but I was hoping for something a little better than imitation animatronics.
The Breakdown:
Neverwhere, the book:
Characters: 9/10
Storytelling: 9/10
Descriptions and Writing: 10/10
Entertainment Value: 10/10
Neverwhere, the miniseries:
Acting: 8/10
Storytelling and Writing: 9/10
Visuals and Sound: 7/10
Entertainment Value: 8/10
The final score is…
Neverwhere, the book: 38/40
Neverwhere, the miniseries: 32/40
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