He gets up, scratching the grey wedge of belly and pubic hair, shuffles to the gas burner, pours leftover coffee in a chipped enamel pan the flame swathes it in blue.
The shirts hanging on a nail shudder slightly in the draft. I’m not sure, for instance, how on earth Mr Lee could ever have hoped to express the opening paragraph of Proulx’s story in film, a paragraph all but shimmering with memory, loneliness and loss:Įnnis Del Mar wakes before five, wind rocking the trailer, hissing in around the aluminium door and window frames. There are things you can say in text that you can’t fully and deeply convey in a visual medium. Let me put my cards on the table from the off and say that while I do love the film (it may actually be the best adaptation of a book since The English Patient), I think that the story in its original form is even better.
It’s a story I’ve loved for years, along with the whole of Annie Proulx’s original collection ( Close Range: Wyoming stories), and I’d been singing its praises for a long time before Ang Lee even picked up his film script to begin – or whatever it is directors do first. I must admit I was delighted when Vulpes announced they were having a book/film adaptation week and that Brokeback Mountain was one of the subjects on offer. Adaptation Week: Brokeback Mountain – the choices we make and those we don’t
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