Book / film compare and contrast essay about Flowers for Algernon and Charly.
Written for English Skills class (Amsterdam University for Applied Sciences) on 01 November 2017.
The bromide opinion about clichés is that they owe their popularity to the truth oozing out of their very core. One such saying is that ‘it’s the little things in life that matter’, and when it comes to the book versus film analysis of Flowers for Algernon, not a syllable is untrue about this statement. Daniel Keyes’ novel about a mentally challenged man who finds himself the centre of an intelligence increasing science experiment, thrives on modest details (Keyes, Flowers for Algernon, 1966). To start with the eponymous Algernon, being a mouse, of course, is small in size. Algernon matters in both book and movie, for without the little critter, there would be no experiment. Digging deeper into the core of the plot, the main character Charlie Gordon comes to the realisation that before the operation, when his life was less complicated and he did not comprehend the world he inhabited, he was happier. His simple mind made it easy for him to be content with his surroundings; a view inimical to his future self. This altered perception did not relieve him of the fear of losing all that he had become; in ways it made his pain even stronger. What Charlie’s struggle did do, was make him three dimensional, a character with whom the reader can sympathise. Most everyone has experienced looking back at a time in life, usually childhood, when mere existence brought delight, and all was taken for granted. While the 1968 film Charly (Nelson, 1968) does a well enough job of showing the protagonist’s journey of becoming an intellectual, the audience is withheld insight into the effects of the gut-wrenching deterioration of Charlie Gordon’s brilliant mind. It is this lack of psychological characterisation that makes the film Charly less meaningful than its written counterpart, Flowers for Algernon.
Like its protagonist, the book went through a transformation of its own; starting out as a short story in 1958, Keyes initially wrote Charlie’s tale for Galaxy Science Fiction magazine, but when its editor encouraged him to change the ending for a happily ever after, Keyes refused the sale (Locus magazine, 1997). The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction gladly took the story which won the author a prestigious Hugo Award. All the while, Keyes crafted the extended version of his signature work (Fredlick, 2014), which was finally published in 1966. While the plot of both short story and novel are similar, the novel delves deeper into themes such as emotional development compared to intelligence, psychological influence stemming from childhood trauma, and the treatment of the mentally disabled, as well as more universal themes such as Man versus God, friendship, love, and the loss of innocence.
Interestingly enough, the celluloid path was akin to its written counterparts; in 1961 the short novel was adapted into an episode on an anthology TV series called ‘The United States Steel Hour’, in which Cliff Robertson played the role of Charlie. Robertson proceeded to acquire the rights to the story and when the novel was published, he was able to reprise the role on the silver screen (Keyes, 1999). The film was written by internationally acclaimed screenwriter Stirling Silliphant – who won a Golden Globe for the screenplay of Charly – and directed by Ralph Nelson. Critically received (Canby, 1968) (Ebert, 1968), Charly was rewarded an Academy Award for Cliff Robertson’s outstanding portrayal.
Despite the plethora of corresponding features, the filmmakers’ decision to make changes to the narrative were pivotal to the work’s profundity. One of these decisions was for Charlie to have a love interest and for that relationship to flourish. Through the course of both film and novel, Charlie falls in love with his teacher: Miss Kinnian. Her kindness and genuine interest in his life, evoke feelings in him he never experienced before. In the film, this results in Charlie attacking Alice Kinnian and forcing her to kiss him. Their struggle ends when Alice slaps Charlie. The two part ways; Charlie takes some time to experience the hippie culture of the 1960s, shown in a dated and awkward psychedelic montage, while Alice longs for his return. When Charlie does, they proceed with a romantic relationship whose origin is never coherently defined to the audience; a clear and identifying marker of the director’s disregard for psychological development. Alice sticks with Charlie, even through his arduous deterioration back into the man she once attempted to teach how to spell. The novel took a less romantic, yet more realistic stand; after a short, passionate relationship, Alice comes to realise that even though the love is there, she and Charlie would not work in the long term. He is unable to stimulate her emotionally and by that time, her intellect is not sufficient enough to provoke and challenge him. They part affectionately and stay friends. Charlie never gets over her, but does not stay alone for long either; he embarks on a sexual adventure with his neighbour, Fay Lilman, who is oblivious to his past.
Another conceptual difference can be witnessed in the way both versions treat Charlie’s family life. While in the film, he merely mentions his family once, in the novel he tries to reunite, and strives to mend relations with them while attempting to cope with the traumas he was subjected to in his early youth. Due to the book’s set up as the protagonist’s journal, the writer was able to create two Charlies who exist within one another. As the protagonist progresses intellectually, an awareness of the simple Charlie is initiated. The character is always in the background, watching, commenting, and occupying the consciousness. This persona, the id, symbolises the child; the insecure, immature and undeveloped. The simple Charlie inside the more intelligent one is therefore the story’s antagonist. Due to the complexity of the internal fight, it is understandable that the filmmakers did not incorporate this into their film; it is however unforgivable that they missed out on the opportunity to add emotional and psychological layers to their story through Charlie’s venture to relate to those who abandoned him as a child. The reader gathers a considerable amount of disturbing insight from the protagonist’s resurfacing memories, such as the time he was screamed at by his mother for trying to pick up his baby sister and was forbidden to ever touch her. Or the fight between his parents in which his mother threatened to kill Charlie with the knife she was carrying, if his father continued his refusal to ship their son off to a State Home. It becomes clear that Charlie’s drive to learn stems from his mother’s obsession with curing his mental shortcomings. Throughout Charlie’s visitations with his father who does not recognise him, and his mother who is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, he has no choice but to reconcile with the lamentations of his past. For the filmmakers to deprive the audience of this emotional struggle is regrettable, because it forced their protagonist into becoming merely a two dimensional character, while the plot generated potential for so much more.
The disparity between Flowers for Algernon and Charly clearly shows that, despite the novel’s psychological and emotional richness, Silliphant and Nelson chose to cling to the surface, neglecting to attend to the engrossing depths beneath. Even though it is a filmmaker’s prerogative to impart their own perspective to their product, in regard to adaptations it is a deplorable act of folly to ignore the psyche when a novel has significant profoundness on offer. While Flowers for Algernon reveals itself as a wondrous odyssey through the mind, into the soul of a man, Charly merely provides an extract of that experience and leaves the traveller stranded at the zenith. Without depth and layers in films, an audience is fed a two dimensional meal in a three dimensional world. Psychological characterisation should not be seen as an optional tool but as an intricate instrument, giving meaning to literature as well as films; through the connection made with personages, an observer becomes part of the fictional world they absorb for a moment and through this, is able to expand their own universe. It may be ‘the little things in life that matter,’ but one would be wise not to dismiss the grand either. What lies beneath the surface might change a life.
Bibliography
Canby, V. (1968, September 24). The Screen:Cliff Robertson in Title Role of ‘Charly’. Retrieved from New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9E03E1D61339E433A05757C2A96F9C946991D6CF
Ebert, R. (1968, December 31). Charly. Retrieved from Roger Ebert: http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/charly-1968
Fredlick, E. (2014, June 18). Author Daniel Keyes: 1927-2014. Retrieved from Paste: https://www.pastemagazine.com/articles/2014/06/daniel-keyes-1927-2014.html
Keyes, D. (1966). Flowers for Algernon. New York: Mariner Books.
Keyes, D. (1999). Algernon, Charlie, and I: A Writer’s Journey. New York: Harvest.
Locus magazine. (1997, June). Daniel Keyes: 40 years of Algernon. Retrieved from Locus Online: http://www.locusmag.com/1997/Issues/06/Keyes.html
Nelson, R. (Director). (1968). Charly [Motion Picture].
