It seems an unfortunate truth that producing a film version of a novel automatically generates a certain aura of importance around the original source material. The aura may be nothing more than the glow of profit; the transformation of the lowly paperback, relatively cheap to produce, into an investment carrying expectations of high returns. Although movies invariably simplify and often cheapen the content of literature, the implication remains, “The message within is compelling enough to generate revenue from the cinema-going masses.” “The Lovely Bones” represents one of the cases in which a writer, Alice Sebold, made a relatively successful first stab at fiction writing. Yet when such a novel suddenly finds itself plastered upon the pedestal of the silver screen, it knows it does not really belong there. The novel-as-film feels self-conscious and shifts about awkwardly, dragging the unfortunate audience along on a bumpy ride. The best efforts director Peter Jackson and his star-studded cast fall short, while the elements that earned praise for the book fail to emerge onscreen. From the opening moments, the film diverges from the book's directness, in which you learn on the first page that the narrator Susie, played by Saoirse Ronan of “Atonement” fame, was murdered at age 14. From there, the rift between the book and film widens as the mismatched casting further distorts the original narrative. Although at 38, Mark Wahlberg may have now crossed the threshold from macho to mature, he lacks the gravitas to delve into the anguish required for the role of Jack Salmon. Mr. Salmon's enduring grief for his daughter becomes the dominant feature in his family's life, weighing down the actions of his wife and surviving children. Although Wahlberg may have aged into the father roles, seeing “Max Payne” beat to a pulp by a high school kid just feels incongruous. Rachel Weisz, as Abigail Salmon, might have been a great choice had the film given her the time to develop her complex character. As Susie watches from “The In-Between” (a sort of half-heaven where she remains involved in her family's lives), she comes to understand Ms. Salmon not as her mother but as a human being. Mothers everywhere may recognize her exhaustion with the constancy of her role, the taxing extent to which her children and husband take her love and work for granted. Reluctant motherhood is a subject that doesn't often emerge in the lovey-dovey world of Hollywood motherhood. In the novel, Ms. Salmon's infidelity and abandonment leave scars deeper than the death of her daughter, yet her character is sufficiently sympathetic that the reader tries to be understanding. In the film, her infidelity never materializes and her absence is shortened to a matter of months, hardly affecting her family. Susan Sarandon, likewise receives far too little screen time, though the moments she appears as the alcoholic and eternally made-up Grandma Lynn demonstrate that given a mere 30 seconds, Sarandon can dazzle. Infrequently does Stanley Tucci ooze the creepiness required of serial killer George Harvey. Only in the scene prior to the murder, as he has lured Susie into a clubhouse he built underground “for the neighborhood kids,” does Tucci induce horrified dread. Generally, he simply arouses disgust, his flimsy blonde comb-over and watery eyes appearing almost pitiably pathetic. The fact that he is unrecognizable as having played Nigel in “The Devil Wears Prada” testifies to his transformation but fails to redeem his performance. Only Ronan fits seamlessly into her role as Susie. Watching her reminds the viewer how infrequently adolescents are portrayed in film. Usually characters must fit the mold of child or adult, unless the movie targets teens, in which case they often appear as prettier and thinner versions of adults. Rarely has a film or actor captured the fragile awkwardness of adolescence, those bursts of youthful enthusiasm propelled on gangly legs. Yet few actors could have salvaged a story forced onscreen, a role for which it lacked both the aspirations and necessary characteristics. The novel contained too many moving parts, too much involvement in the finely tuned machine of familial interaction — husband to wife, father to child, sister to sister, children to mother — for any movie to handle gracefully. That's why many of the novel's strongest assets were lopped off in the script. Most notably, the story subtly delves into the complexities of womanhood, tackling marriage, infidelity, love and growing up. Unfortunately, despite discussion of our “post-feminist era,” its bygone setting in the 1970s resonates now, when American women are told that they are liberated. To keep her in the clubhouse, Mr. Harvey demands of Susie, “Be polite. You have to be polite,” an admonition that still causes women all over the world to silently suffer humiliation, abuse, and in this case, rape and death. Another glaring omission; possibly to maintain its PG-13 rating, the film fails to mention that Mr. Harvey rapes Susie before he murders her, as he does most of his other victims. While the book manages to condemn him without becoming a pedantic rant, the film's complete exclusion of the rape further Disneyfies the story. That Susie can carry on a happy existence in “The In-Between” after Mr. Harvey's crime carries the sick implication that her murder (and rape) is forgivable. The movie betrays the original story by overlooking Ruth Connors, played by Carolyn Dando, completely ignoring her character's uncanny sensitivity to past crimes against women. Ruth can sense Susie's presence and as time passes, the presence of other murdered women as well. Her lesbianism provides a further bond to the silent multitude, victims of a society that reproduces the conditions that kill them. “Be polite.” “Be a good girl.” “Be a good mother.” That Ms. Salmon rejects the subjugation of an unwanted role made intolerable by tragedy, despite the pain inflicted upon her family, represents a statement worthy of Ibsen. Which, again, the movie glosses over. Still, the film maintains a few redeeming aspects; the epic landscapes and surreal wonders of Susie's heaven evoke the grandeur of Jackson's scenery in the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. The computer imaging starts to feel overdone, but at least heaven feels properly grand. One redeeming moment comes when Susie's newfound friend and fellow murder victim Holly solemnly tells her, “Everyone dies.” While the film's other profound statements (for example, “How much a father could love his daughter”) fall flat, this particular moment resonates. All of us have limited time, some shorter than others. And despite Susie's lovely heaven, she remains forever separate from those she loves; a fate shared by children, parents and murderers alike.
