Upon hearing the news that Martin Amis’ 1984 novel Money was going to become a two-part drama, I went through something not too dissimilar to the range of emotions felt after the loss of a loved one. As a starting point, I eschewed denial in favour of full blown anger – I was furious that anyone would ever consider cheapening any novel, let alone Money, by turning a 400-page book into something easily consumable in two one-hour length episodes. Following denial and anger, I briskly swept through bargaining and depression before landing quite squarely in the psychological frame of mind deemed ‘acceptance’. There is, I now understand, very little I can do about it.
I still maintain that I had reason to be irked by this news. You see, the genius of Money is in its details – the delightful one-liners and intricate plot-twists could only ever exist within the context of a novel, because, primarily, it is a piece of writing that relies upon the power of the penned word. Money is one of the darkest satires produced during a decade that needed frequent injections of black comedy; it is a novel that uses language in such a clever fashion that the text reeks of the fatigue of the protagonist John Self’s persistent trans-Atlantic travel, the disgust with his obscene consumption of junk food and the lurid penchant that Self has for salaried-female company. And I’m not too sure all this can be conveyed through visuals and script with the limitations that the BBC have doubtlessly imposed.
I had, admittedly, attempted to envisage how certain scenes would work as a film, as the New York of my mind leapt into action with all the neon signage and beat-up yellow taxis that this vision entails, before I dismissed the whole notion as foolish: it would take a brave person to suggest the idea of a television adaptation and a hugely talented cast to be able to pull it off convincingly.
This opens up a whole new can of proverbial worms: why bother adapting books for television when they are, at best, gently flawed and, at worst, an abomination? Television has long relied upon dramatisations of novels to pad out the schedules, as they fulfil the necessary quota of theatricality without having to bother with writing a script from scratch. However, like translations, these efforts can be beautiful or faithful, but never both simultaneously. Take Gangs of New York as an example of this; it is a fabulous piece of cinematography but largely disloyal to the novel from which it was adapted.
Adapting novels for television is a flawed art, and I suppose the only reason for my ire is that, deep down, I would, somewhat perversely, love to see all my favourite books on television, Money included, and I want to see them done justice. Whenever any work is transferred from your bookshelf to your living room, there will always be those who cry out, in gently-outraged voices, laden with haughtiness, that “it was hardly faithful to the original storyline…” I hope this is something that cannot be said with any sincerity here.
Alexander Britton
Photo: Nick Frost in the BBC adaptation of Money.
Tags: martin amis, money, tv
