“Five stars, Angel, five stars.” – Em, ‘NOPE’<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s often easy, when reading a book, to imagine a movie or TV adaptation. \u201cLakeith David should definitely be the lead here,\u201d or “probably couldn’t use a live whale for Moby-Dick<\/em>, right?” or \u201chow many Kiwis you figure would make a realistic-looking orc army?\u201d Similarly, movie adaptations provoke questions among readers before the movie comes out. \u201cHow\u2019d they handle Zaphod\u2019s two heads?\u201d or \u201cwait, it’s Heart Of Darkness<\/em>, but they’re setting it where<\/em>?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n I have the reverse happen sometimes. There are films where, thanks to their structural language, I can see clearly in my head as a very ambitious collection of poems (or experimentally-formatted novel). Part of this stems from my fascination with genre-bending, my love of novels in verse like Autobiography Of Red<\/a><\/em> or Dreaming Of You<\/a><\/em>. Also my love of research poetry books, like Leadbelly<\/em> <\/a>by Tyehimba Jess<\/a>, The Big Smoke<\/em> by Adrian Majteka<\/a>, or Utopians In Lov<\/em>e by Bob Sykora<\/a>. Name-dropping books is not an explanation, I know. We need concrete examples. Let\u2019s talk about Nope<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n