The Neverending Story was the first loooong book I remember my mother reading to me (and always breaking off at the most exciting passages, which made sure I’d read the next chapter or two on my own). I loved the book, the illustrations, the old German writing for the chapter headings. I was madly in love with Atréju. I reread it a few times since then, always discovering more about it and being amazed at the depth of the story.
Then the movie came out. It was the first time in my life that I saw a film based on a beloved book, and being all of seven years old, I was in no way prepared to the cruelty. The film may have its merits, but it’s simply a completely different thing. It has nothing of the magic and philosophical sparks of the book. For me, Atreyu not being green, Bastian not being fat, and Fuchur being a flying sausage dog was the worst. As you can see, I never quite recovered from that book-to-movie attitude. I am not ashamed. XD
Tomorrow: Some Tolkien, finally! And not for the last time, either.
Size: 600 × 990
Trackbacks are closed, but you can post a comment.