When Authors Must Let Go

Hugh Dancy as Buddy Wittenborn and Claire Danes as Young Ann in “Evening,” a Michael Cunningham adaptation of the Susan Minot novel, directed by Lajos Koltai.

A dialogue about the relationship between novelist and screenwriter

BY David Kennerley

Writers, especially authors of best-selling, culture-rattling novels, have the dubious reputation of being a smug, proprietary bunch. Egomaniacs, even. So when literary luminary Michael Cunningham shared the stage with Susan Minot at Lincoln Center recently to discuss his screenplay of her epic 1998 masterwork, “Evening,” I expected sparks to fly.

This isn’t any ordinary movie, but a heart-wrenching, Oscar-worthy showcase starring an astounding ensemble of powerhouse actors, including Vanessa Redgrave, Meryl Streep, Glenn Close, Eileen Atkins, Toni Collette, Clare Danes, Patrick Wilson — the list goes on.

So did the chat end in fisticuffs, with Minot wailing, “Look what you did to my beautiful book, bitch?” No such luck.

“My first thought was, nuh-uh,” said Cunningham, recalling when producer Jeff Sharp first approached him about the project. “It is a beautiful, fully accomplished novel and I don’t want to be the guy who messes up someone else’s book.” But once he got assurances from Minot, that, of course she was expecting major changes, he agreed, albeit with trepidation.

“I did do some versions of the script,” admitted Minot. “But a kind of burnout happened, so we got Michael. It was a serial collaboration.”

So what, besides risking pissing off the original author, was the most daunting dilemma for Cunningham? Population control. The story, which alternates from the present to a dying woman’s reveries of love lost 40 years earlier, is teeming with individuals.

“There is room in a novel like Susan’s for dozens of beautifully drawn characters, and a movie just can’t contain that many people. The physics just don’t work. I had to bid a regretful farewell to some [of them].”

Cunningham, who is openly gay, revealed that one character he expanded upon was Buddy (played by heartthrob Hugh Dancy), an alcoholic rogue grappling with his sexuality.

Another significant shift was the oceanside setting, from Maine to Newport. It was not an artistic decision, according to Cunningham, but a function of budget. Given the logistics of shooting on a remote coast, as well as incredible tax breaks offered by Rhode Island, it was actually cheaper to shoot among the tony mansions in Newport. The entire production came in at a relatively thrifty $13 million.

When asked about the challenge of translating the thoughts of characters from page to film, Cunningham praised the cinematic medium.

“You do lose interiority of the characters. But what you gain is what the actors bring — these little bits of business, little fidgets, little hesitancies — that have no equivalent on the page. And you have the camera’s ability to show, without making a big deal of it, every single article in the room, every single thing the character is wearing.”

A couple years back, Cunningham tried his hand at adapting his own novel, “A Home at the End of the World,” but only because if he didn’t do it, the project would never see the light of day. Sadly, the film tanked at the box office, and he swears he’ll never make that blunder again.

“A novel, if it’s any good, represents the writer’s ultimate effort,” he explained. “What I want is a fresh pair of eyes to take it someplace else. Surprise me. I can’t think of nothing more depressing than a faithful adaptation.”

No stranger to screenwriting herself, Minot collaborated with Bernardo Bertolucci on the film version of “Stealing Beauty,” so she appreciated what Cunningham was up against. While she was able to successfully “let go” of her baby, at what point did Cunningham have to relinquish creative control to director Lajos Koltai?

Not until late in the game, it turns out. Happily, the author was allowed on set for the entire filming and given carte blanche to make revisions. He even got to run lines with Meryl Streep.

“When I would see the actor gamely deliver a really shitty line, I would say, ‘I can’t believe I wrote that and we filmed it. Please cut it out,’” Cunningham recalled. “I found myself in the peculiar position of fighting with the director to actually remove lines. There are still a couple I’d like to take out.”

As for the slavishly “faithful” film adaptation of a novel, the New York-based author has little use for it, believing that television, which can devote many serialized hours, is better suited.

“There’s something crazy about turning a novel into a movie,” he said. “When someone succeeds they have so beaten the odds. It’s an unnatural act.”

Minot was able to cede control because she believes no film, good or bad, can take away from her published work.

“The book remains intact between its covers,” she asserted. “A movie is something more. Period. It doesn’t change the book.”

As you may recall, the shoe was on the other foot a few years ago, when Cunningham’s Pulitzer Prize-winning pride and joy, “The Hours,” was adapted by David Hare. With the avalanche of accolades, Cunningham, along with the rest of the world, certainly didn’t have a problem with that.

“All the novelists whom I respect don’t pull this thing about ‘Don’t touch my precious baby.’ I hate that — the notion that one’s book is the fingernail of a saint that must be kept in a reliquary. That kind of obsessive preciousness, frankly, is the mark of a hack.”

“Our lives are being mostly made rotten,” he lamented, “by people who don’t know when to let go.”