An ode to adaptations…

A recent flight with Emirates finally gave me the chance to watch a film I’d been meaning to see for some time: Conclave, adapted from Robert Harris’s novel. In a remarkable twist of timing, its release coincided with the death of Pope Francis earlier this year. Harris himself remarked in a BBC interview in May 2025 that papal selection is rather like The Traitors, and the film did not disappoint.

There was a certain irony in the fact that my Netflix subscription blocked the film locally, while Emirates – the national airline of Dubai, in a Muslim country – had no such qualms. The UAE continues to liberalise: a casino is being built in Ras Al Khaimah, JBR Walk in Dubai is party central with little sign of morality police worrying about knees or shoulders, and even Saudi Arabia is preparing to open alcohol sales to expats outside the diplomatic bubble. Malaysia, on the other hand, appears to be moving in the opposite direction, with calls for its national airline to become alcohol-free to reflect the country’s values. As someone who has spent plenty of time in the bars of Penang and Kuala Lumpur, I’ve seen a rather different side to those values. My guess is that long-haul passengers would simply vote with their feet and choose another airline.

Watching Conclave set me thinking about adaptations from books to screen. These are just a few that came to mind while I was flying – there are, of course, countless others.

Let’s start with The Thursday Murder Club. I devoured Richard Osman’s novels and the film began promisingly, but casting Pierce Brosnan as Ron simply didn’t work for me. Not a single person I know imagined anyone other than Ray Winstone while reading the books, whereas the choice of Helen Mirren seems universally approved. Spoiler alert: how on earth are they going to film book two after Bogdan’s arrest? It certainly didn’t end that way on the page.

On a similar theme, when Tom Hanks was cast as Robert Langdon in The Da Vinci Code I was deeply unconvinced. Now, I can’t imagine anyone else in the role and I’m eagerly awaiting the adaptation of Dan Brown’s latest book, The Secret of Secrets – although rumours suggest it may become a Netflix series. Then there’s Jack Reacher: having read Lee Child’s books, who thought casting 5ft 6in Tom Cruise was a good idea? Alan Ritchson, in the Amazon Prime adaptation, is far more faithful to the 6ft 5in, “arms-like-tree-trunks” Reacher of the novels.

Lowering the tone slightly, I’ll happily admit how delighted I was with the TV adaptation of Rivals. It captured Dame Jilly Cooper’s original novel perfectly. Many women of my generation grew up on Rivals, Riders and the rest, all secretly wanting great sex with Rupert – who, incidentally, was blond in the books. I’m still not convinced by the casting here either. Alex Hassell doesn’t quite match the “most handsome man in Britain” I had in mind. My Rupert was closer to Daniel Craig emerging from the sea as 007 in those infamous blue short shorts, but each to their own. What astonished me was how faithfully the series recreated the book in all its glory – naked tennis, sex on desks, oral sex on balconies, threesomes and an impressive amount of nudity – despite today’s supposedly woke, politically correct climate. RIP Dame Jilly. You were truly one of a kind.

I mostly read women’s fiction and crime thrillers, but I do occasionally resurface for something more literary. English Literature was my favourite subject at college. An aunt gave me a children’s collection of Shakespeare when I was young – Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, Macbeth – and that set me on a lifelong love affair with the Bard, on page, stage and screen. The notable exception was Henry V, which as an A-level text was pure misery. And for any younger readers rolling their eyes at the idea of literature, remember, The Lion King is simply Hamlet, with Disney magic.

It’s amazing how the wrong lecturer can put you off a book you once loved. I’d read most of Thomas Hardy’s novels long before Far from the Madding Crowd appeared on my A-level syllabus. One lecturer spent several hours waxing lyrical about a moth fluttering around a lamp as a metaphor for humanity flickering through the universe. Really? I thought Hardy was beautifully describing a night on the moor, a moth and a lamp. Somehow, I still emerged with an A – no doubt helped by my mom introducing me to the 1967 film starring Alan Bates and Julie Christie.

The Garden of the Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng is another standout. I read it while living in Malaysia. It tells the story of a woman seeking solace after surviving a Japanese internment camp during WWII, while her sister did not. This is not a light read. The subsequent film, however, was a triumph – exquisite storytelling paired with breathtaking cinematography.

Books becoming great stage shows and films is an endless subject. Les Misérables is a perfect example of book to stage to film (and I certainly didn’t expect Anne Hathaway to be quite that good). Priscilla, Queen of the Desert made the journey from film to brilliant stage show, and as a child I was almost afraid to watch the screen adaptation of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – but it turned out to be pure magic.

Let me know the adaptations you’ve loved, and the ones you’ve hated, by leaving a comment. I’m sure you’ll remind me of many I’ve forgotten.

PS: Remakes deserve a separate blog entirely, but as a teenager I watched Kris Kristofferson and Barbra Streisand in A Star Is Born almost weekly when it came out on VHS – and I’ve watched Gaga and Bradley at least as many times since.