When I find out that a movie I like is based on a book, I frequently seek out the book. It’s not just that I like books better than movies (though a case could be made, I guess). There’s just likely to be stuff even in a fairly short book that there wasn’t space to include in a two-hour movie (or even a three-to-seven-hour movie, the current standard).
“More of what I like” is a pretty easy sell for me. The pattern was set when I read the novels that The Maltese Falcon (1941) and The Thin Man (1934) were based on. Huston’s movie is an enduring classic, but Hammett’s novel is even better, and the “Thin Man” movies, though fun, are pale shadows of Hammett’s last novel.
I’ve probably watched Mike Nichol’s The Graduate (1967) fifteen times, and usually when I see the credit “based on the novel by Charles Webb” I think, “Hey, I should read that.” Then I forget about all that when Anne Bancroft appears onscreen.
But over the weekend, D and I visited NeverMore Used Books in Toledo—a truly great bookstore. I ran across a paperback of Webb’s novel there and snapped it up. (Spoilers for the 63-year-old novel and the 59-year-old film follow, if you’re worried about that.)









