There is a common notion in pop culture that “the book is always better than the movie.” In almost every case referenced, that tends to be true. Oh sure, I believe that Francis Ford Coppola understood “The Godfather” much better than Mario Puzo, but you can still admire the author for getting the framework all down on paper, creating a delightful and pulpy read. There are cases to argue that novels have a more insular view of these worlds and thus have an advantage that even three-hour films can’t. You can feel like you better understand these characters. This is the type of logic that can be applied to just about every source material, though I’m thinking of one that may fall a bit short…
If you had to ask me, I would label director Gia Coppola’s Palo Alto (2014) as one of the best teen movies, well, ever. Next to Lady Bird (2017), there wasn’t a better representation of being young and aimless over the past decade. The way that I think about it is that I imagine those meandering conversations you have while sitting at the curb, overlooking the stars and imagining the future. How do you make this moment into beautiful, timeless art? In my opinion, Coppola is one of the few who borrowed just enough Terrence Malick spirituality for the teenage ennui, blasting a brilliant Devonte Hynes soundtrack as these moments weave in and out. There’s not really a plot, and yet we see these characters evolve, learn lessons, and have these revelations.
It’s a big reason that I refuse to let my love for Emma Roberts die. While the rest of her career has been spotty, there is something about April that is enigmatic. I love watching her navigate this world, simultaneously so real and lived in while sometimes having this nostalgic lens over it, making a moment feel distilled in a snow globe to be admired. Deep down you believe that April is a good kid who will work things out, especially in comparison to just about every other character, but for now, she has to navigate the wasteland of reckless parties and pointless conversations.
I would go so far as to say she has one of the single best line readings of the 2010s. When troublemaker Teddy says that he tore down the old tree in the park, April simply says “That’s so sad.” To most, this reads as simple acknowledgment. However, it’s something symbolic of what the bigger story is: a decay of youth. The tree symbolized something complacent in life, used by everyone as comfort and protection. The destructive act comes with consequences that we don’t see, and suddenly the tree becomes something more. It isn’t just a loss for Teddy. It’s a loss for us all, no longer having something to grasp onto. A moment is gone forever.
I say all of this not only because I believe that Palo Alto does so much with a meaningless conversation about kings while sitting in a parked car, but because it’s one of the rare adaptations that not only exceeds its source material, but you can argue is a vast improvement. Even when you take into account that James Franco had a starring role in the film that allowed him access to provide further input, the story that Coppola comes up with is a vast improvement over what he started with.
On the one hand, it helps that his novel is more of a compilation than one cohesive story. “Palo Alto” was his debut novel where he detailed the lives of these characters as they went to parties, bought drugs, and in one case said some unpleasant slurs. Franco, who grew up in Palo Alto, CA, wanted it to be reflective of his youth and suddenly you begin to understand a few things about him as an author. Either it was a more liberal time, where the culture was too toxic in a “boys will be boys” way, or he is doing this all just to get a rise out of us. It’s difficult to believe that either is lacking evidence to support it. Given that Franco’s been an eccentric personality for over 20 years, it’s hard to not believe that this is some bearing of his soul.
This isn’t to say that what he’s written is bad. In small doses, some of these stories may work. There’s a rough framework for what the film ultimately became, but otherwise, you’re presented with a very rude book that goes further than Coppola ever wanted, presenting a side of teenage life that is wild, maybe buying too much into Bret Easton Ellis delusions. While there’s room for him to explore more sympathetic sides in his female characters, there’s something confusing and frustrating about the males, who sometimes seem to act out simply because they’re young. These are decent characters on paper, but Franco doesn’t really give them much to do.
The thing that’s consistent between both versions is the aimlessness. Both don’t really feel like they have a bigger point at times, and I honestly think that there are ways to make it work. However, Franco has been known to give in to wild scenarios that include controversial sex scenes that are kind of racist. He’s clearly looking to be considered bold and advantageous. As someone who wrote my own version of a personal collage in “Apples & Chainsaws,” I honestly get what he’s trying to do, but as one cohesive text, it’s a mess.
I can’t honestly speak to the rest of his books, but this 2010 novel feels like it came at a very strange time in his career. In 2020, Franco looks very different for a variety of reasons (some of them are Me Too Movement related). However, there was something showy about him in 2010 that you had to admire his audacity, that he actually believed that everything he touched turned to gold. He was more than an actor, managing to most impressively get a Golden Globe nomination for playing a stoner in Pineapple Express (2008). However, we were entering a time where he was in college, doing five films a year (including a few NC-17 works), starring on soap operas, teaching classes, and getting blurbs from his peers that the man never sleeps.
I’m reminded of a comment that critic Amy Nicholson made about interviewing him. She found something haunting about him. He was present, but there was no life behind the eyes as if his mind was somewhere else. It’s how I imagine his life around 2010 was. His brain could go in a million directions, but it never felt like he was giving his all to everything. If you really want to know the pinnacle of this opinion, just know that he co-hosted The Academy Awards with Anne Hathaway in 2011, constantly posting pictures to Twitter during the actual ceremony. As far as focus goes, that wasn’t it.
To me, “Palo Alto” reads like someone who wasn’t focused on any bigger idea. These are all reflective of short attention spans, where cheap ideas are glorified because his characters are young. I don’t fault him for wanting to write a novel like this, but every good idea feels undone by a handful of bad ones. It’s telling that I largely can’t see the skeleton of the book in Coppola’s work. Yes, some of the stories are lifted more directly, but I feel like Coppola was more interested in the ideas of these characters. These were abstract paintings, and in that way “Palo Alto” works significantly better.
There is nothing really essential about reading the book if you love the movie. To me, I don’t disagree with anyone who says it’s a bad book, self-involved without a bigger point. It may actually be fitting for those who dislike Franco in 2020. I admire him for wanting to try everything and see what his limits were, but that doesn’t mean some of his work is lackluster. It’s what made him an interesting actor to watch for a long stretch of time, where he could star in blockbusters and wild indies at the same time. I’m still conflicted about him post-2018, though even then I’m not yet entirely opposed to perusing his work from time to time. In all honesty, his collaborations with Seth Rogen were influential on my general taste in humor.
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| Gia Coppola |
So, what did Coppola do that made it a good adaptation? I think it’s as simple as male and female perspectives. Male is often considered masculine, allowing for more ignorance and juvenile behavior to be accepted. Female is often considered tender, allowing introspection and personal growth. Coppola feels like she recognizes herself in these characters enough to sympathize with everyone, whether they be the abusive boyfriend or how April gets stuck in a questionable relationship with her coach (played by Franco). She allows for small moments to be expanded upon, where these conversations have actual subtext.
To me, I feel like every novel has the potential to be redeemed in the right hands. While some are more difficult than others, the beauty of art is that it’s supposed to be universal. A small moment can inspire something greater in the audience, wanting to expand upon a small moment that could have profound meaning. Again, Palo Alto isn’t designed to be the deepest story. However, I do believe that Coppola has a grasp on deeper symbolism than Franco does. It’s in that tree being cut down, or how a character wanders around in a costume from Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are.” There’s this divide between childhood and adulthood, and it’s subtle enough that you see its tenderness, these moments finding us coming to terms with adult problems for the first time in sometimes uncomfortable ways.
Also, and this is more preferential, Coppola just has a better grasp of the humor and absurdity of these moments. When Teddy has to do community service, he meets the woman whose car he hit and has an awkward conversation that seems kind of dumb. It makes you wonder about the discomfort you feel at this moment. Much like Franco’s eyes in that Nicholson quote, I don’t know that the book would understand how to make a joke without making it huge and vulgar. That’s how boys are, after all. They don’t stop and observe.
The big difference is that Franco glorifies teenagers while Coppola creates a sentimentality. These characters are still making bad decisions, but you recognize the humanity more inside of them. They’re allowed to participate while being these blank slates, not fully understanding the circumstances. I love the way that April observes the world around her, adding a depth of loneliness to a party scene. She adds so much to the film, and all by simply trying to weasel her way into a conversation that she doesn’t care about. We’re all looking for acceptance, and April is the outcast trying to do it without losing her vague sainthood.
If you want to experience a great teenage movie, I consider Palo Alto to be among the best. I personally am curious to see what Coppola does next with her career. While there’s plenty that still attracts me to Franco, I am aware that it may be difficult to love, especially since his later work feels like it may lack the passion or effort that he once had. That’s a side effect of doing everything at once. It results in a lack of focus, and that’s the issue with his book. It makes you believe that anything was possible, and as he’s discovering that’s not true. It may be why Dave Franco has randomly become the more beloved brother in recent years. He doesn’t show up as much, but when he does he’s a blast of fresh air. Still, I guess that I have to thank James Franco, even if inadvertently, for giving us this mess of a novel for someone to make a great movie out of. It’s the perfect example of seeing things where others couldn’t, and the reason that not all interpretations are created equal. Some just understand the ideas better than others.
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