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I never know whether it’s a good idea to read the book before the movie. No matter how great the movie is, you’re always going to compare it to the first version of the story you came to know.  And the first of everything is very often the best, if only because it was the original, and originals warrant respect.

When I first picked up Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man in the bookshop, I hadn’t intended to read it. I knew I was going to see the film later in the week so I picked up it casually, more interested in checking out Colin Firth’s picture on the cover than reading what was inside. But as you do, I opened the cover to glance at the first line. It was liked being rapidly sucked into another consciousness.  The first lines were so captivating and tragic.  I’ve never picked up a book and been rooted so deep into the character so quickly.

Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognised I, and therefore deduced I am, I am now.

It’s a testament to the quality of Isherwood’s writing that despite all of the publicity I’d seen for this movie before reading the book, I didn’t at all picture Colin Firth as Isherwood’s George. Isherwood’s George, is hardly described physically in the book at all. The book is far more concerned with George’s inner psyche rather than his outer appearance. We learn he is 58 and so far older than Tom Ford’s George and many of the elements introduced to give the movie the kind of dramatic oomph that appeals to cinema audiences, are absent in the book. In the book, George, is not, despite his crippling grief, suicidal.

So book or movie?

There’s no doubt that A Single Man, the film, is a visual feast. The direction was arty with lots of deep emotion being conveyed through close up shots of sultry eyes and sexy lips. It was beautifully designed and some of the scenes were like photographic prints come to life (I’m thinking Jennifer Strunk in her blue dress).  Tom Ford seemed to make characters abundant in life, physically portrayed (the tennis players),  and this did set the perfect backdrop for George’s dismal struggle to go on participating, and find the energy for life in himself.  Jim too was portrayed as a free spirit, this freedom and energy for living were the very things that attracted to George to him.  Even Julianne Moore, playing Charlie, as tragic as her character is, was colourful and lively.  The story of A Single Man as it goes in the movie is definitely far more glamourous, like an old house that has been given a style makeover.  I still loved it for what it was. Cinema engages the audience differently. There are certain expectations for dramatic twists and turns and visual flair. Tom Ford delivered this. There was some tension and the amazing underwater dream sequences that punctuated the storyline were captivating to watch and brought the audience back to George’s pain very subtely.

The movie did depart from the book in many ways. Isherwood’s George is not suicidal. In fact, I think, Isherwood would have hated Ford’s character’s suicidal tendencies. Isherwood’s George, in spite of his grief, still counts himself part of the ‘minority’, those who are living and appears to think that it’s the right place to be, inspite of all the pain.

Isherwood’s Charley is also far more of a mother-earth, hippie character.  While Ford’s Charley, played brilliantly by Julianne Moore, is glamorous and desperate, I prefer her to Isherwood’s Charley, if only because the on screen Charley is far more tragic.

Also Isherwood’s George, never had a sexual relationship with Charlie in the past. I preferred it that way.

On balance, I enjoyed the book more.  The book was able to take the reader further into George’s emotional drama and because of this the story seemed even more tragic.

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