Movies or Books?

No, I’m not trying to say that I like movies better than books, or vice versa. It’s just that, contrary to what most people think, there are actually some movies that are better than their literary counterparts.

My Sister’s Keeper is a good example. Don’t take this the wrong way. I Love Jodi Picoult’s book with a capital L. Yes, it was moving. It had a wonderful plot which centered around a family in crisis. Kate was great (rhyme totally intended); Julia and Campbell were hilarious. Anna was… genuine. The characters were well-built; they weren’t one-sided unlike some other characters I needn’t mention. My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult was absolutely beautiful. But the one thing it wasn’t was tear-inducing.

I don’t cry over books or movies or media in general. But when a movie does that, then it has succeeded. The movie did just that. Although I love both the book and the movie, the movie was better, if you’re wondering. It pulled at my heartstrings. It dragged me out of my lovely recliner chair and into the story.

I can’t describe it. Every time I watch My Sister’s Keeper, I cry. Every time I read it, I keep turning the pages. I can’t explain the feeling; it’s just there. The movie is more real to me somehow.

Then again, there are also those movies that couldn’t even begin to compare with their book counterparts. Percy Jackson was one, in my opinion. The series was quite dear to me, and when I heard about a movie of the first book coming out, I felt very excited. Finally, I could see Percy in the big screen. Would he be movie-star handsome, or would he be the ordinary twelve-year-old described in The Lightning Thief? And what about Annabeth? Would she be what everyone imagined her to be–blonde, smart, with stormy gray eyes?

The questions just whirled around until the day finally came to watch it. Needless to say, the phrase I said the most that day was, “It’s not like the book.”

Percy was okay. But Annabeth? You’ve got to be KIDDING. Alexandra Daddario was pretty, but Annabeth was supposed to be twelve (and blonde), not freaking TWENTY-TWO (and brunette). Do I have to say it? I was rather disappointed.

So I guess the movie side of media has its trophies (and its I’d-rather-hide-you-behind-the-curtain movies). The same goes for the literary side. I don’t know if this makes sense, though, but nevertheless I love them both.

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