I almost always prefer the book to the movie.
And I hate seeing the film first, because instead of creating in my head, I'm remebering pictures from the film while I read.
I guess cause it's such a small amount of people who make the decsions in a film, it's rarely personal..., e.g. if I say something like this:
Jai
And I hate seeing the film first, because instead of creating in my head, I'm remebering pictures from the film while I read.
I guess cause it's such a small amount of people who make the decsions in a film, it's rarely personal..., e.g. if I say something like this:
Although it's quite descriptive anyway, everyone will 'see' it in a different way; they'll all see a different brass watch, they'll all see slightly different shades of gold and pillar-box red. So then seeing that in real moving pictures; seeing what someone else 'saw' recreated will somewhat shatter whatever image you had...well that's how it works for me anyway.The man who ran the shop was old and little, his hair was past grey, and he looked as breakable and frail as the small hand-painted porcelain items he kept on the desk near the till. The window on one side was leaded, with panes of antique hand-rolled glass: it had once been an inn. When the man had bought the shop, many,many years ago, he had only the money to replace half of the shops windows, and in had stayed that way ever since. The small panes of glass on the old half of the window reflected the small puddles between the cobbles in the road in a rather haphazard way, whereas in the large, flat, mass-produced pane, a mirror image was produced. The old man was, for the 14th time that week, polishing a small brass pocket watch.He looked up to the clock, which he had placed up above the door. His eyes ‘read’ the wall, from top to bottom. At the very top was a dry spiders web, woven long ago. Further down was his clock, acquired from a railway station, the man had painted it pillar-box red himself. Scanning further down was the shop’s name and details, delicately stencilled on with gold ink, but reversed, as to allow prospective customers to read it from outside. Not that it mattered anyway, the old man thought. He put down the mirror, got up, and began pottering around his shop, neatening each little item as he went.
Jai