It generally goes without saying that a film adaptation is never going to be as good as the novel on which it is based, but I can't think of another novel-into-film that missed the mark so completely as this one. The book is insightful and
touching but also very funny, with some really wonderful, original language.
It's clever and poignant and has one of the most delightful narrators out there. The movie, on the other hand, gets so bogged down with sentimentality that it just drags along, devoid of energy. There are some beautiful locations and the cast looks good and seems capable enough, but it's been directed as a heavy drama
with deep dark pain at its core-- instead of a romantic coming-of-age story that mixes comedy, drama and quirky charm in equal measure. Everyone in the
movie just seems so miserable, even in scenes where they're supposed to be
happy. The voice-over narration is one of the biggest problems. In the book the story is told through the journal entries of 17-year-old Cassandra Mortmain, a very bright aspiring writer, and her voice has an intensity, precociousness and excitement that just hurls the reader blissfully along; but in the movie
Cassandra's voice-over narration lacks every single one of these qualities and instead has a solemn, mournful tone. This is probably more the director's fault than the actress's, although some blame should also go to the screenwriter, who has the unfortunate habit of substituting her own annoyingly mediocre narration and dialogue in place of the often brilliant language that's readily available in Dodie Smith's novel. The writer also seems to have felt the need to invent more than one scene completely out of nowhere; one huge scene in particular
between Cassandra and her father is not only NOT in the book, but it contradicts everything the book stands for-- and in such a maudlin, obvious, movie-of-the- week type of way. Sadly, they really blew it with this interpretation of a
thoroughly enjoyable book.