Sometimes, the lens captures what the pen just cant. All claims that text could never be bettered on screen were reversed for good back in 1972 when the novel The Godfather became a film. Those particular chapters were, perhaps, always destined for the camera; the story goes that author Mario Puzo was so eager to repay a gambling debt, he bet a then half-written story on a cheap movie option. Whatever the foggy legend, its clear that no writer could convey the dark heart and sharp suits of this New York crime family so well as Francis Ford Coppola. That book was always going to find its truest, and most violent, expression on screen, rather like Australian author Liane Moriartys Big Little Lies.
This book, a creditable 2014 …
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