sharp objects
Sunday brought the conclusion of my latest obsession, courtesy of HBO in the form of Sharp Objects, which I can only describe as a humidity filled southern gothic mystery ball of family dysfunction with an amazing cast that should win all the awards (particularly Patricia Clarkson). . So very interesting that I rush procured Gillian Flynn's novel it was based on and read it in three days.
In a weird twist, though I liked Flynn's Gone Girl better than the film version, this time the book paled compared to the cinematic version. While the novel seemed a more bare bones mystery driving to a conclusion, the screen version lolls in the pretty, but terrifying, gothicism-- full of sweet tea, spinning fan blades, and weird Civil War era rapeyness. The lushness is visual and almost tactile. The characters much more wrought here--and either more likeable or more hateable. While I had looked up the book synopsis even before reading and knew who ultimately committed the crime, the show really indulged everything in getting there, so that you almost did not care if you even got there at all. Like you could easily wander into the woods and get lost forever..
Each week as I was watching, I kept thinking the show was the kind of book I wanted to write myself one day--full of ghosts, murderous girls, and beautifully suffocating wallpaper....
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