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Midnight in the Garden of Book and Movie

by Melpomene Whitehead

I must admit, as soon as I heard that there was going to be a film made from John Berendt's bestseller Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and that it was starring super-heartthrob John Cusack, I decided not to read the book. I know that goes against popular wisdom amongst us pseudo-intellectuals (that being that you want to be able to say Oh, the book was much better, as soon as you walk out of the theatre), but I didn't want my experience to be colored by the prose version of this story. The book is always better, you can go into so much more detail, add subtle nuances that can't even be conveyed in a visual media like film, say things with a descriptive phrase that can only be hinted at in a movie. But I was going to see this because I Love John Cusack. He's too awesome. That lanky lovetool playing a New York writer, well, it was just too much for me to even imagine.

And the book, well, everybody just loved the book, the story of New York editor and Esquire columnist John Berendt ending up in the bizarrely quaint southern city of Savannah, GA because he was sick of New York (at this point I become suspicious. How can someone be sick of New York?). Berendt, apparently having never read any Truman Capote, is fascinated by the characters he comes across, believing their bizarre behavior to be unique to Savannah. It's amazing how a Southern accent can make the annoying seem picaresque. People Berendt would step on in a New York subway become his best friends. But, as always, I digress. This is the south, remember, so at some point Berendt discovers that the beauty of this city has the ubiquitous seamy underside. Hijinx ensue, naturally. A rich man shoots his lover and we go on from there.

For some reason, in the movie the writer is called John Kelso and the rich man has contrived to get him to Savannah to cover his annual big Xmas party. You see, Home and Garden or HB or something wanted to cover rich antique dealer Jim Williams' famed soiree, which takes place in his home, the beautiful Mercer House a landmark home owned by songwriter Johnny Mercer's grandfather. So Williams complies, but only if his favorite writer is sent to cover the story, and that's John Kelso. But John doesn't know that Williams is such a fan of his, having written maybe one book! And he doesn't really know why he was assigned this story, having never written for this magazine before! But I can forgive these contrived plot twists, because for all their gordian-knotiness, it is still more entertaining than this near 400 page tome, this massive manuscript of self-absorption.

Perhaps it is Berendt as a character that I have a problem with. He's boring. I don't like him and don't want to know him. Maybe he can get around in his little world of lunches at Gotham or Le Cirque 2000, charging his cigarettes on the company expense account, whatever, I don't like him. But Cusack! He is a darling, a genius. When the camera stays on his face for more that a few beats we can see what's going on in there; he wears his emotions on his face like he's the damned Visible Man! And that's vital to this movie. As I said above, you can't say everything in a movie that you can in a book, but when you have an actor like Cusack, it's not necessary.

So, I made a choice between the contrived and the boring, and oddly enough, I chose the contrived. The film is adequately made, if a little heavy-handed at points. It's long, but not overly long. Almost every scene is vital to the narrative (there is one scene I would have removed, but it plays an important part in the book and in the social structure of the town. Unfortunately, it sort of stops the film for a moment) and everyone in the movie is so good in their role. I mean, I didn't feel cheated paying $9.50 to see it, so there you go.

I will now hand in my pseudo-intellectual membership card: I am officially a member of the plebes.

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