I went into the film fully expecting another mediocre book-to-film adaptation, and unfortunately, it met my expectations. Tom Tykwer is one of my favourite directors and I had high hopes that he would be able to transfer Suskind's sensational read into the audio-visual format, but regrettably, it appears that the medium of film is not quite ready yet. Suskind vivified descriptions better than any other author I have ever read. Somehow, he managed to capture the wafts and wisps of every fleeting scent and ten minutes into reading the book, I discovered a heightened sense of smell. That effect seemed to have been lost in translation. Admittedly, filmmakers only have two channels to work through: the sense of sight and the sense of sound, whereas Suskind's magic was weaved through our greatest sense of all: our imaginations. Kubrick and Scorsese both conceded that Das Parfum was "unfilmable" and although I admire Tykwer's willingness, he happened to prove the master directors correct. Visually, Tykwer produced an impressive banquet of colours, contrasting between the spectacular and the mundane, the sensual warm palettes and the pale cold ones. But they were still cheap substitutes, and that was not enough. Flashes and glimpses of various objects do not liven our sense of smell. Neither do too many shots of Grenouille's nose with an added sound effect of someone inhaling. There was very little subtlety involved in conjuring up the imagery. The score was divine at times when it was brave enough to crescendo (most notably when Grenouille smells Laura for the second time) but mostly it was just average and too quiet to make an impact.
Really, the filmmakers really fell over at the first hurdle: casting. I thought they ought to have looked harder for actors more suited to their roles, and if they couldn't find that perfect someone, abandon the project entirely. Ben Whishaw certainly looks demented enough, but too young and boyish to play our protagonist. For the first half of the book, Grenouille is expected to be an ugly, hunchbacked, yet arrogant subhuman. Whishaw just looked scared. The English accents felt equally out of place in 18th century Paris. Dustin Hoffman was simply ridiculous as Baldini, far too jolly and adding comedy where there was meant to be none. The true Baldini was devilishly resourceful and scheming, something that Hoffman doesn't understand. I was expecting Alan Rickman to balance him off with a little more gravitas, but apparently nobody told him that he was no longer playing Snape. John Hurt's narration was bearable, but personally I am strongly against narrators in films though for something like this I'll concede it may be necessary. There was one surprisingly bright beacon of hope among the cast, and that was Rachel Hurd-Wood as Laura. With how the book described her as the female Messiah, I expected to be disappointed with the film version, but she was simply perfect and more. I'm thankful that they did not decide to cast a twenty-something in the role of Laura and let her pretend to be the paradigm of chastity and virtue. Her innocence spoke volumes and I can see how Suskind could summarise it as incest-inducing in Richis.
It was only when Laura appeared on screen that you felt that Grenouille finally had a goal. Before that, he seemed to have been aimlessly wandering around with only a concept of what he was planning to do. But here is where the film contrasts the most with the book while the book was getting tedious towards the end, the film only now starts to spark up. Unfortunately, it still cannot inspire splendour and magnificence as the book could. There was nothing artistic about Whishaw's Grenouille, you only felt dirty and perverted as the beast gazed upon such a creature of beauty.
As with every book-to-film adaptation, time is the most valuable asset and to compensate, parts must be carved out, making it feel like an impoverished imitation. Not only that, some parts were diluted and pasted in hastily in a poor attempt to recover its former glory. Virgin No. 1 was one of the most monumental moments in the book and you could almost taste the warm, syrupy, yellow plum juices dribbling down her hand. Yet minutes before, the film for some reason decided to inject in an unnecessary meeting between the two. The first night down at Baldini's cellar, when Grenouille was a whirlwind of talent whilst in creating Nuit Magique, was decidedly unspectacular. The climax of the film, when Grenouille showcases his ultimate perfume and provokes a mass orgy, was simply too weak. Whishaw looked unconvincing, childish, and downright silly in that blue suit, brandishing a handkerchief(!) as if it was meant to inspire slavish devotion amongst the crowd. If Grenouille could fool the masses into believing that he was an angel, we should be under that same illusion. Instead we get shots of Whishaw pathetically waving his arms and punching the air, Henman-style.
A minor grudge I hold against Tykwer is how he mishandled the deaths of all those who played a part in Grenouille's life. Suskind did a great job to amusingly mock all of those fleeting personalities and their respective demises, and I thought if anyone could capture that fully, it would be Tykwer since he has done it before (and well) in Lola Rennt. However, for some reason he just missed the target on this one.
If you do want to enjoy the film, it is probably a better idea not to read the book first otherwise you may feel cheated. Trying to recreate paradise in two dimensions was always going to be an impossible task. I must applaud Tykwer for having the guts to take up that gauntlet, but perhaps it was better to leave Suskind's masterpiece alone until the world of film is ready.
Really, the filmmakers really fell over at the first hurdle: casting. I thought they ought to have looked harder for actors more suited to their roles, and if they couldn't find that perfect someone, abandon the project entirely. Ben Whishaw certainly looks demented enough, but too young and boyish to play our protagonist. For the first half of the book, Grenouille is expected to be an ugly, hunchbacked, yet arrogant subhuman. Whishaw just looked scared. The English accents felt equally out of place in 18th century Paris. Dustin Hoffman was simply ridiculous as Baldini, far too jolly and adding comedy where there was meant to be none. The true Baldini was devilishly resourceful and scheming, something that Hoffman doesn't understand. I was expecting Alan Rickman to balance him off with a little more gravitas, but apparently nobody told him that he was no longer playing Snape. John Hurt's narration was bearable, but personally I am strongly against narrators in films though for something like this I'll concede it may be necessary. There was one surprisingly bright beacon of hope among the cast, and that was Rachel Hurd-Wood as Laura. With how the book described her as the female Messiah, I expected to be disappointed with the film version, but she was simply perfect and more. I'm thankful that they did not decide to cast a twenty-something in the role of Laura and let her pretend to be the paradigm of chastity and virtue. Her innocence spoke volumes and I can see how Suskind could summarise it as incest-inducing in Richis.
It was only when Laura appeared on screen that you felt that Grenouille finally had a goal. Before that, he seemed to have been aimlessly wandering around with only a concept of what he was planning to do. But here is where the film contrasts the most with the book while the book was getting tedious towards the end, the film only now starts to spark up. Unfortunately, it still cannot inspire splendour and magnificence as the book could. There was nothing artistic about Whishaw's Grenouille, you only felt dirty and perverted as the beast gazed upon such a creature of beauty.
As with every book-to-film adaptation, time is the most valuable asset and to compensate, parts must be carved out, making it feel like an impoverished imitation. Not only that, some parts were diluted and pasted in hastily in a poor attempt to recover its former glory. Virgin No. 1 was one of the most monumental moments in the book and you could almost taste the warm, syrupy, yellow plum juices dribbling down her hand. Yet minutes before, the film for some reason decided to inject in an unnecessary meeting between the two. The first night down at Baldini's cellar, when Grenouille was a whirlwind of talent whilst in creating Nuit Magique, was decidedly unspectacular. The climax of the film, when Grenouille showcases his ultimate perfume and provokes a mass orgy, was simply too weak. Whishaw looked unconvincing, childish, and downright silly in that blue suit, brandishing a handkerchief(!) as if it was meant to inspire slavish devotion amongst the crowd. If Grenouille could fool the masses into believing that he was an angel, we should be under that same illusion. Instead we get shots of Whishaw pathetically waving his arms and punching the air, Henman-style.
A minor grudge I hold against Tykwer is how he mishandled the deaths of all those who played a part in Grenouille's life. Suskind did a great job to amusingly mock all of those fleeting personalities and their respective demises, and I thought if anyone could capture that fully, it would be Tykwer since he has done it before (and well) in Lola Rennt. However, for some reason he just missed the target on this one.
If you do want to enjoy the film, it is probably a better idea not to read the book first otherwise you may feel cheated. Trying to recreate paradise in two dimensions was always going to be an impossible task. I must applaud Tykwer for having the guts to take up that gauntlet, but perhaps it was better to leave Suskind's masterpiece alone until the world of film is ready.