The book was better

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"The book was better." Whenever you go see a film adaptation of a beloved text, you could probably put money on the first thing people will say as they file out of the theater. They'll crumple their candy wrappers and slurp the last of their Mountain Dew and shake their heads at the audacity of the screenwriters. "Another piece of literature ruined!" And it's just another casualty of The Studio System. That big, money-grubbing cinema machine, which, unsatisfied with romantic comedy fodder, has seized a beautiful novel and squeezed. In this case, we've gathered here to mourn the untimely adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's All The Pretty Horses (Thornton, 2000). McCarthy’s plot is, for the most part, kept intact throughout the film. Instead, it is the film technique—like close up face shots, hokey music, and clichéd cinematography—that causes the film to become something trite and boring rather than mirroring the lyrical prose of McCarthy’s novel. The film grasps at the conventions of the Western employed by McCarthy, without managing to portray his subtle commentary on the inability of these conventions to apply to the modern American landscape.

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