A Perfect Adaptation
Is there even such a thing? A look at Red, White & Royal Blue, with so, so many spoilers ahead.
After I witnessed the atrocities that are the two Percy Jackson films in movie theatres as a child, I became incredibly precious about the books I loved that were set to become films. But with time, after knowing firsthand what it takes to write a screenplay and to write a screenplay adaptation of a novel, I understand that this is less cut-and-dry than thirteen-year-old me thought. Does that suddenly make Percy Jackson good? No, of course not. But it does mean that I know that no adaptation will ever be perfect if the standard for perfection is accuracy to its original form. Films demand different things than novels do, whether it be for pacing or character reasons, and sometimes beloved moments from our favorite books cannot make it into the film version, simply because of what a film is.
So, naturally, when I heard the novel Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston was being adapted into a film, I was apprehensive, but also hopeful. RW&RB follows Alex Claremont-Diaz, the son of US President Ellen Claremont, after he causes a cake-tastrophic scandal at a British royal wedding alongside Prince Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (long names, I know), forcing the two of them into a sort of charm-offensive, trying to sell the world the idea that the two of them are actually very good friends rather than politically prominent individuals who thrive in antagonizing each other; of course, they end up falling in love along the way, but isn't that how it always goes?
Before I get into the meat of this post, I feel the need to contextualize my relationship with this book. I read RW&RB in early Fall of 2020 — so, basically, peak pandemic. Up until this point in the pandemic, all my brain could really handle was playing Animal Crossing and speeding through Criminal Minds (simultaneously); unfortunately, reading felt like Too Much, let alone a book I hadn't already read before. But after hearing endlessly about this novel online, I made the (now, fated, in my opinion) decision to pick it up. And when I say I read it faster than anything else I have recently, that isn't an exaggeration. McQuiston's writing is captivating and beautiful and features such lovely characters who say such lovely things — but it also isn't difficult to parse. I wasn't sitting with a thesaurus at the ready, and because of that, I flew through their book faster than my fingers could turn the pages. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a complete sucker for a political drama, but throw an international romantic scandal into the mix? Sold, I am so, so sold. All this to say: three years ago, I picked up this novel and became irrevocably attached to this story and these characters, so the prospect of a film adaptation was scary, because I knew that regardless of how good the film would end up being, it simply couldn't compete with the version of this story that lives in my head.
So with that established, I will say this: I liked this movie. A lot, and more so on the rewatch (it's been out a week, I know, but I rewatched it for this post — never let anyone say I'm not dedicated!). I liked this movie, I think it's good, but I also think it's a little bad, perhaps in some unavoidable ways, but in other avoidable ones. This post summarizes my thoughts well, thought comedically:
The biggest change from the novel to the film is, in my opinion, the actual categorization. I would call RW&RB the novel a romantic comedy/political drama. The romcom aspect of it is definitely the meat of the story, but given the allowances writing a novel from a singular perspective allows, it also functionally is about the political aspirations of the son of the US president, and how those aspirations fit into his being simply as a human. The film, on the other hand, to me is a romcom with a political backdrop. The difference is subtle, but it's there. Director Matthew Lopez said, in an interview with US Weekly, "why I say it wasn’t hard [to cut down] is that I quickly realized putting this movie together that, unlike the book, this movie was about Alex and Henry first." For a story of this nature, the options are either to flesh out every little detail into a limited series (which feels a little unnecessary, to be honest), or to cut everything but the core story around the relationship at the center of this novel. And honestly, while the fan in me wishes for longer moments, for scenes like Alex actually in the campaign office or for Ellen's powerpoint presentation after she finds out about Alex and Henry, I understand the necessity of the cuts.
Necessary the cuts may be, but felt they are as well. To me, epitomized in the omitting of Senator Rafael Luna as a character, and in replacement, the addition of Politico reporter Miguel Ramos. In the novel, Raf is an openly gay, Democratic Latino senator. He's a friend of Alex's family, and a role model for Alex himself — first simply for political reasons, then on a personal level when Alex realizes he's bisexual. He's also a key figure in the massive conspiratorial plot thread in the novel that involves Alex and Henry getting outed to the world. In the novel, Raf is being blackmailed by the Richards campaign (the Republican nominee for the upcoming election). He ends up being a triple agent, duping Alex (et al) into thinking he's on their side only to give the Richards campaign information on Alex and Henry only to, actually, be working to expose Richards as a sexual predator. It's severely complicated, gripping in the novel, and poorly, in my opinion, replaced. In the film, there is no Raf, but instead, Miguel: a journalist who Alex once slept with, who seems to out Alex and Henry out of some kind of personal spite. It's a bad look, and also not very compelling dramatically. But it's also, like all the other changes made for this film, understandable. While I wish I got to experience the true euphoria of the A1 sauce reveal in the movie as well as the book (read the book, you'll get it), I also know that for a film that is open in its focus on the relationship rather than the politics, having Raf's whole side plot would bloat the runtime like crazy — and apparently, over an hour was already cut to get it down to it's current two hours. Cutting Raf is not my favorite decision in the world but it also is one I understand the necessity of, given time, but also given budget.
The budget of this film is not the fault of the filmmakers, and it's not even necessarily a fault, but it is my biggest gripe with the film. This is more of a symptom of modern made-for-streaming films in general, less so this specific one, but the (what I suspect to be ) lacking budget is apparent on screen. I couldn't find an actual number online, but there's this almost wacky dissonance when it comes to the variety of visuals present in this film. Some parts are so beautifully framed and put together (I swear half the budget must’ve gone into the cake):
Other parts, though, are genuinely baffling. Like this table in the oval office:
But in general, there's what I identify as an over-reliance on VFX rather than practical sets, which in a film like this one is always a budget issue, not a purely creative decision. Because, realistically, why is Alex's talk with his dad on the White House balcony happening there? That's not a scene from the book and the location does nothing to add to the scene — in fact Oscar is watching the news on an iPad. There's no reason for this scene to happen in what is obviously a set, against what is obviously a fake sunset. But it's there. Additionally (and this, I think, is a result of the inherent corporate-ification of the film by virtue of it being made by Amazon) is the general pristine image of the film. I know, genuinely, that my stance against this particular look in films is a result of the films I loved growing up and now. Romcoms like Notting Hill and When Harry Met Sally feel real not just because of the quality of writing and performance, but because of the truth felt in the spaces that their characters fill. In modern made-for-streaming films, but especially in genres like romcom that are less valued as Films™, you look on screen and there isn't a single object out of place. Every room is evenly lit but uninterestingly lit, and for the most part, the editing is incredibly straightforward. Each room, if thought about too hard, becomes apparent as a set rather than a space that these characters could live in even when the cameras aren't rolling. Everything in this film, and in films like this film, is so perfect that the mere existence of Henry's (granted, purposely) mussed hair after an encounter with Alex feels like a breath of fresh air. My problem with my own problem that I'm describing here (still with me?) is that I don't have a solution. I don't know what the budget for this film was but I think it probably shouldn't have been higher. I yearn for practical sets and small scale images but I know that isn't always possible, especially in a story that centers on the White House and Kensington Palace as two of its major locations. I bring this up less as an actual slight against RW&RB, and more of a slight against the way studios and streamers function in their original works, in general. But as we've seen with the strikes, we can't really be expecting the most when it comes to them.
Basically, and what I've been dancing around this whole time, is what is actually left of the film when so much is changed or cut. Because yes, it does fully focus on Alex and Henry, and therefore, while we still don't get everything about them by nature of so much of the details being delivered to readers of the novel in text messages and emails, we still do feel the truth of their characters, as brought to life stunningly by Taylor Zakhar Perez and Nicolas Galitzine. But everything else — everything else feels just a little off, feels like there's more to the story that we aren't getting. I was talking about the film with a friend who hasn’t read the book, and they said that the relationship between Ellen and Oscar felt weird, that Miguel's aspect also felt unmotivated and underdeveloped, and that Alex's identity was present but not necessarily fully realized. And there's a reason why! Ellen and Oscar don't function very well as a married couple because in the book, they aren't one. Miguel feels underdeveloped and unmotivated because he was created out of necessity after cutting Raf. Alex's identity both as a Latino man and a bisexual man exists as an undercurrent even if not delved into fully because it's present in full force in the novel, where he deals with being the brown son of a white president and, notably, coming to terms with his sexuality within the story of the novel, rather than vaguely knowing about it already as in the film. There is so much depth in this novel that simply cannot exist in the film, because of time, budget, and perspective restrain due to the nature of the mediums themselves.
Ultimately, everything I've said here is not necessarily in complaint. I loved this film, truly. I recommend it wholeheartedly. It's cheesy and gooey and funny and just downright enjoyable. But after watching it (the first time) I did find myself questioning how I, myself, thought about the film, given my history with book adaptations. This is not a perfect movie if adherence to the source material defines perfection. But, and like I said in my Letterboxd review for the film, it's less about following each beat exactly and more about following the intent:
I think by most people’s standards, this is far from a perfect adaptation, but I think to me, it’s pretty damn close. When you give your work to someone else to tell, all you can really hope for is for them to respect it, bring their own voice to it, and let it shine in its new form. And I’m not nor do I know Casey McQuiston, but if I were them, I’d be damn proud.
I think I could give an impromptu powerpoint presentation about this film if put on the spot, but in lieu of that, here is this blog post. (My original notes for this post, written by hand, took up over four pages in my notebook. Yeah. I know). There’s much here I missed, much more that will likely become apparent to me once we’re more than a week out of its release. But ultimately, this is a post written out of care, not hatred, or even annoyance. This film is far from perfect, both as an adaptation and as a film on its own, but it is so much fun. Zakhar Perez and Galitzine embody their characters to the maximum, perfectly capturing Alex's golden retriever energy and Henry's eternal ennui. Writing my own (unlicensed, mind you) adaptation earlier this year definitely changed my perspective on film adaptations, as did the three years of screenwriting classes preceding it. But ultimately, all any of this comes down to is: "was it made with care? With love?" And here, the answer is, unequivocally, yes. ⬥
