Public Enemies
In theatres now you'll find Michael Mann's loose adaptation of Bryan Burrough's 2004 New York Times bestseller Public Enemies (go to the official movie site!), which Recorded Books offers as an unabridged audiobook.
I saw the film over the July 4th weekend and thought I’d share a few observations about it, the book, and the adaptation. I should mention, however, that it has been some time since I read the book, so my recollections are admittedly suspect.
Personally, I do not believe in the oft-repeated phrase, “the book is always better than the film.” I feel that this sentiment is usually based on unfair judgments from one medium to the other and on lofty expectations placed on the film thanks to the amount of detail almost always found in a book that is by necessity left off the screen. Quite simply, films and books do different things and they communicate in different ways, so it’s kind of silly to rate one against the other as if they were the same type of art. Certainly they share common attributes (plot, characters, pacing, etc.) but I think it’s important to keep in mind how differently these things are expressed in each medium.
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In the case of Public Enemies, the book and the film are truly two different entities, so it’s not as simple as one is “better” than the other. I will say that whether you liked or didn’t like the film, if you enjoy true crime stories, you will find Bryan Burrough’s book to be a real treat. He digs deep into criminal lore to re-create numerous larger-than-life characters (angels and demons on both sides of the law), many of whom made their way into, and remain, a part of our American cultural heritage.
One thing that is often not made clear about this film in particular is that it is an adaptation of a very specific story thread in Burrough’s book—that of John Dillinger’s crime spree robbing banks. In addition to detailing the beginnings of the FBI, the book actually chronicles a bevy of Depression-era criminals, including the notorious Bonnie and Clyde and the Barker gang, all of which are not really touched on in the film, except for the scene where Melvin Purvis is introduced while hunting down Pretty Boy Floyd. Because of this, I would say the film doesn’t really do justice to the time period by failing in a certain way to convey the danger and mood in the nation as a whole.
The book and film do, however, leave a strong impression of how the Robin Hood-esque celebrity criminal captured the imagination of the country and made Dillinger a sort of folk hero. There’s a photo in the book (sadly unavailable on audio) that is re-created nicely in the film in which Dillinger, on the occasion of one of his arrests, is seen with his elbow on the shoulder of the state prosecutor while he’s being interviewed by the press.
Burrough also goes to great lengths to present a rich portrait of 1930’s America (particularly in the Midwest), which became a breeding ground for disaffected people desperate for money, adventure, love, you name it. In fact, I would say that’s one area I also felt the film came up short. It seems like the filmmakers went to some trouble to evoke the time period, but I don’t know, some of it felt very hollow. This is not the case in Burrough’s book.
In the film’s defense, I did enjoy it, though it was not without its problems—some of which I’ve documented above. To expand a little, it goes through several great boring stretches, which wouldn’t be so bad if interesting information was being related or the plot was moving forward at all. But I did not feel this was happening enough.
Somewhat related, the story lacked drama. The more I thought about this, I was torn because, as a historical film, this absence actually works quite well. It transforms the film into a pretty straight crime story about a group of guys robbing banks and another group of guys trying to catch them. Thus, you lose what some would call the “Hollywood” of the movie. Unfortunately, it also makes the film vastly less interesting to the casual viewer (and even to those of us vaguely familiar with the story’s origins).
The all-star cast worked hard to keep things even-keeled throughout, with the notable exception of Stephen Graham, who played the screw-loose Baby Face Nelson. Johnny Depp was solid as usual, though I can’t say Dillinger was “the role he was born to play.” Christian Bale performed nicely as his nemesis Melvin Purvis of the fledgling FBI. And Oscar® winner Marion Cotillard did an admirable job portraying Dillinger’s girlfriend and accomplice, Billie Frechette. Perhaps my favorite performance came from Billy Crudup, almost unrecognizable, as FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover.
Many books pass by my desk here at RB—many pass by quickly, I might add—but every once in a while, I get to spend time with a book and actually savor it. Public Enemies was definitely one of those books. Recently we released the audiobook on CD, after years of being a cassette-only title. Hopefully both sides of the CD vs. cassette debate will be happy with this.
So, I hope you’ve found these movie/book musings entertaining and informative. Happy listening, and just in case you are interested, RB does offer Burrough’s (visit the author’s website) newest book The Big Rich, all about turn-of-the-century oil barons—which I have to say, I am eager to read, as well.
