What makes a film adaptation flop or bop?

Great films often come from great books. However, feature films do not always live up to expectations, while in other cases, it is the novels themselves that gain value thanks to screenplays that cleverly adapt the core of the written pages, achieving a superior result compared to the printed text. One example above all is The Social Network, one of the most precise screenplays ever written in the history of cinema—not only because it manages to analytically portray the troubled beginnings of Facebook's creator, Mark Zuckerberg, from an external perspective but also due to Aaron Sorkin’s ability to make simple dialogue rhythmic and dynamic. Just think of the opening scene, a true paradigmatic example of what cinematic writing is and should be: texts, subtexts, quick-witted responses, language that moves faster than thought. A couple breaking up in a crowded bar who, in just five minutes, define not only themselves—their needs and flaws—but also introduce the film’s inciting incident. All of this in just five minutes.

It is also true that with The Social Network, Sorkin had a clear path ahead, given that The Accidental Billionaires – The Founding of Facebook, the book it is based on, was not particularly deep or insightful. Written by Ben Mezrich, it tells a story of money, sex, genius, and betrayal. The book was interesting mainly as a starting point for the story of a young Harvard student who, seeking revenge on his ex-girlfriend—something evident from that sensational film opening—comes up with the most demeaning way to treat women: ranking them online and letting others vote on them. In Mezrich's 2009 book, Sorkin and director David Fincher found the foundation upon which to reshape the story to their advantage, while remaining largely faithful to it, thereby creating a true literary character—in the narrative sense—far more defined than he had been in print. With eight Oscar nominations and three wins, The Social Network took home Best Original Score, Best Editing, and, of course, Best Adapted Screenplay—three different elements of the cinematic spectrum that give the film its pulse.

Then there are books that continue to be reworked, transformed, and adapted through personal reinterpretations, while others remain faithful to their original stories. However, it is always worth remembering that adapting does not mean copying, and skilled screenwriters know how to find the right key to eliminate the unnecessary and translate the novel’s words into visual storytelling. Queer is one of the most recent examples of this: Luca Guadagnino, once again collaborating with Justin Kuritzkes after working together on Challengers, directs a version that remains true to both the words and lived experiences of William S. Burroughs, as well as the surreal and intangible realm that the novelist explored through drug use—adding surrealism to his journeys in search of love, human connection, and, above all, his elusive ayahuasca. Premiering at Venice 81 and set to hit Italian cinemas in April 2025, Guadagnino’s film blends narrative, lived experience, and all the derivative works produced by and after Burroughs, crafting them into a single film. Fleeting pages whose on-screen adaptation retains the same elusiveness, demonstrating that even the intangible can be made imaginatively concrete.

Not satisfied with his deep dive into literature—having brought to the cinema the book he loved as a boy and now adapting another that has entered the pantheon of cult novels—Guadagnino is ready for his version of American Psycho, already adapted by Mary Harron in 2000 from the novel of the same name by Bret Easton Ellis. On one hand, the return of the character Patrick Bateman—originally played by Christian Bale and now set to be portrayed by Austin Butler—highlights how the thriller genre, even with its darkest shades, remains one of the most fertile for book-to-screen adaptations (from The Silence of the Lambs to the recent Conclave, history proves this). On the other hand, a new American Psycho also demonstrates how a single (object) can give rise to a variety of versions. Just like what happened with Nosferatu by Robert Eggers, which, while being a direct consequence of Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau’s 1922 cinematic vampire, has its roots in Bram Stoker’s Dracula from 1897—a character that, from the 1920s to the present, has appeared on screen over 130 times. When dealing with such classic, almost archetypal figures, the possibility of adapting them in countless variations is inevitable. That’s why it’s no surprise that in 2024, a film like Lisa Frankenstein by Zelda Williams—directorial debut of the daughter of the iconic actor and comedian Robin Williams—will be released, telling the story of a girl who resurrects a young man, leading to a romance filled with both love and murder. Meanwhile, in 2025, we can expect Guillermo Del Toro to present a version of Mary Shelley's horror novel as faithful as possible—Del Toro himself has been a fan of the book since childhood (just like Guadagnino with Queer) and is finally directing the project.

Literature being a goldmine for Hollywood and beyond is standard practice. Whether modern and relevant—sometimes even award-winning, like Nickel Boys by RaMell Ross, based on Colson Whitehead’s novel that won the Pulitzer Prize in 2020, offering a fresh perspective with its deeply immersive, subjective point of view in film direction—or whether biographical or historical, inspiring countless movies that aim for major recognition, especially the Oscars. A recent example is A Complete Unknown, based on Dylan Goes Electric! by Elijah Wald, exploring Bob Dylan’s shift to electric music, or the Brazilian film Io sono ancora qui by director Walter Salles, centered on the story of Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s family and his father’s disappearance.

Then there’s classic literature, spanning all genres—whether fantasy or reality—born purely from imagination. The more vast or complex the content, the more likely it is to be adapted into a series, unless you are Christopher Nolan and decide to bring the epic of the Odyssey to the big screen. Meanwhile, Umberto Pasolini has taken a more humble approach, focusing solely on the arrival of Ralph Fiennes’ Ulysses in his home in the recent Itaca – Il ritorno, also based on Homer. There used to be major film sagas—sometimes with mixed success—like Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, and The Hunger Games, but their "younger siblings" haven’t always been as fortunate—think of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien or the young adult dystopian series Divergent, whose final installment was never even produced. Now, streaming platforms or networks like Rai are taking over, providing a format suited to their needs. From the successful TV adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo to Netflix’s take on The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, or The Wheel of Time with its 14-book saga now heading into its third season on Prime Video, and the generational tale of Pachinko on AppleTV+. Meanwhile, Harry Potter, more than 20 years after the release of The Sorcerer’s Stone, is being turned into an HBO series.

A surefire way to turn every project—especially a series—into a hit was devised by Reese Witherspoon, who sold her production company, Hello Sunshine, for $900 million in 2021. It all started with her book club, which now boasts 3 million Instagram followers. Founded in 2017 and with an aptly descriptive name, Reese’s Book Club sees the actress pick a book each month—one for which she has already secured film rights—to later develop into a movie or series. The idea is brilliant because it boosts book sales while simultaneously allowing her production company to gauge audience reception before investing in an adaptation. That’s how a success like Big Little Lies was born—initially a one-season miniseries, now awaiting production of its third season. Witherspoon’s desire for greater and more diverse female representation on screen has increased both literary and cinematic/TV interest in female protagonists while redefining marketing strategies for their distribution. Perhaps her plan was born from her own experience starring in disastrous adaptations of literary classics, such as A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle’s 1963 children’s book, which Disney turned into a catastrophic live-action film in 2018. In short, from The Divine Comedy to Wicked, adaptations remain the lifeblood of film and TV production—not aiming to be better or worse than the book, but simply different.