Adaptation: You Are What You Love, Not What Loves You

This might be the smartest movie I’ve ever seen. And it stars Nic Cage.

I need to be very clear about this: I adored this movie. Charlie Kaufman is one of the most brilliant screenwriters there is. I loved Being John Malkovich, and like every good hipster who was discovering cinema in the mid-2000s, I loved Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Adaptation follows so perfectly on the heels of both of those movies and I deeply regret that I didn’t see it sooner.

I won’t get too deep into the plot synopsis because I think this is a movie better experienced than described. There’s a lot of content that you can really only getting out of seeing it, and the more I think about that, the more I realize what a perfect compliment it is for a film that so gleefully and ironically talks about the pratfalls and tropes of screenwriting and cinema.

The character of Charlie Kaufman (played by Nic Cage) has been tapped to write and adaptation of a book called The Orchid Thief (this is a real book). Experiencing writer’s block about adapting a book about flowers and horticulture that has a deeper subtext about passion and longing, Kaufman struggles to find a jumping off point for his story. His simple-minded twin brother Donald (also played by Cage) is currently living in his house and is entertaining ideas of becoming a screenwriter himself. As Kaufman becomes more and more desperate to write a screenplay that does the book justice, he seemingly gets further and further away from writing a cohesive draft.

There’s a point around the middle of the movie where Donald comes into Charlie’s room, having finished his new screenplay, and tells Charlie that the main villain cuts pieces off of other characters (who are actual multiple personalities of the villain) and eats them. He got the idea from a tattoo his girlfriend has of a snake eating itself. “Ouroboros,” mutters Charlie.

“No, I don’t think so,” says Donald, falling down on the bed.

“I’ve become the Ouroboros,” says Charlie, a fictional portrayal of the real writer of the movie, played by Nicolas Cage, who also plays his twin brother Donald Kaufman who is a fictional character created for the movie and is given not only a dedication at the end of the movie, but a screenwriting credit for the movie itself. This is the kind of movie Adaptation is.

This movie is so beautifully large in scope, yet almost every single aspect of it ties perfectly into itself. From the narrative structure that flips between following Charlie attempting to write the adaptation to following the adaptation itself. From having Nicolas Cage tell Nicolas Cage that you can’t write a story where one character is both characters and having his brother say “We’ll use trick photography,” to Charlie Kaufman going to a screenwriting class, having the teacher explain everything to him before clapping him on the back and saying “Oh and no deus ex machinas.” From the very beginning, where Kaufman says “I don’t want to write a Hollywood adaptation with a chase scene and guns” to the climax of the movie, which is a chase scene with guns.

This movie unfolds and wraps around itself so beautifully and dramatically that you can’t believe that you would have ever thought that it could be a simple film with a beginning, middle and end. And sure enough, there’s a scene where Donald talks about little Japanese paper balls that expand into beautifully complex lotus flowers when you drop them in water.

If it sounds like I’m raving, it’s because I am. This movie is goddamn incredible.

And it nailed a beautiful eight Cagemarks, too!

Shirtlessness: Heck yes we get to see Cage in his fuzzy glory, and he put on a bit of weight for this film so he looks extra cuddly.

Shaving: No shaving, but I will draw attention to the fact that Cage’s character is intentionally balding. It’s so weird to see Cage with thinning hair like that considering the lengths he usually goes to to maintain his elegant and totally real mane.

Cage Scream: We get a couple here and there, one decent one as he trashes a hotel room.

Overacting: So I want to draw attention to this. Obviously we get overacting, but this is an instant where it works beautifully for the character. Charlie is supposed to be a neurotic and socially inept genius who is thoroughly passionate about his work. In the first scene, we see him sweating bullets while talking to Tilda Swinton, and as he explains his vision for the movie, he gets louder and more agitated before realizing he’s getting agitated and receding back into himself. It’s overacting, absolutely, but it really works here.

Underacting: Same thing as the overacting. Kaufman is a bit of a bipolar character, and in his depressed phases, Cage mutters and groans almost incoherently. It’s so low-effort, but it sounds exactly like what somebody who is depressed and can barely muster the energy to speak sounds like. Cage really nailed it with this one.

Weird Dialogue: The opening monologue is bizarre, and I think it might be one of my favourite monologues ever. It’s just a stream of consciousness over a black screen, spoken by Cage in a hushed monotone. Here’s an example: “What if I learned Russian or something. Or take up an instrument. I could speak Chinese. I could be the screenwriter who speaks Chinese and plays the oboe. That would be cool.”

Describing Violence: Donald Kaufman briefly describes having sex with Maggie Gyllenhall and it’s so weird and gross that I’m counting it.

Running: We get to watch TWO Cages running through the swamp at the same time. How great is that?

Kissing: Nic Cage kisses Judy Greer and Maggie Gyllenhall. And I think Tilda Swinton. What is it about balding, neurotic, depressed writers that women find so charming? Please tell me, I need validation.

I’m not quite sure how to sum up my love for this movie. My head is still swimming through all of the incredible layers upon layers upon layers that this movie contains. It’s this astonishing microcosm of stories and jokes and characters and themes and motifs that somehow squeezes itself into two hours worth of cinema. If you haven’t seen this movie, you just need to. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a magician pulling a never-ending string of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve, but every handkerchief has a question on it and that question answers every question that has come before it.

May you find your ghost orchid,

Nat

P.S. Hey, it’s Ron Livingston! And Stephen Toblowsky! Neat