[Kim Seong-kon] Is bottle half-full or half-empty?

Once again, the Chinese novelist Mo Yan’s Nobel Prize win reminds us of the role of film in promoting a literary work. To scholars of Chinese literature, Mo Yan has long been a celebrated writer for his critically acclaimed works.

To the general public, however, Mo Yan is better known for internationally renowned films like Zhang Yimou’s “Red Sorghum” and Chen Kaige’s “Farewell My Concubine,” which are based on Mo Yan’s novel and play, respectively. The former was awarded the Golden Bear Award at the 38th Berlin International Film Festival, and the latter the 1993 Cannes Palme d’Or.

Although Mo Yan is a prominent writer, it is highly likely the number of people who watched “Red Sorghum” far exceeds those who read the original novel. The excellent film “Farewell My Concubine,” too, fascinated viewers all over the world who had not read or seen Mo Yan’s play.

Indeed, the power of film is immense. I still vividly remember the first time I watched the powerful movie, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The Korean title, “It Happened in Alabama,” piqued my curiosity and inspired me to watch the film. I walked into the theater with curiosity, and walked out with humanity and integrity.

“To Kill a Mockingbird” was a deeply moving film that exposes and criticizes our prejudice against the darker skinned, the poor, the abnormal, the old and the divorced, through the eyes of innocent children.

It was a black-and-white movie and yet, it changed my life forever and turned it into a colorful one. Watching the movie, I made up my mind to become a man who is free from all prejudice. Ever since, my life has been non-monochromatic, embracing cultural and racial diversity.

Immediately after I watched the movie, I bought Harper Lee’s novel of the same title and read it again and again until I came to memorize parts of it. The film adaptation was superb, but I found the novel was even better. When I watched the film, “The Name of the Rose” in 1986, the same thing happened. I immediately bought the novel written by Umberto Eco and read it several times. The novel was as impeccable as the film.

Sometimes, movie adaptations are known to be better than original novels. For example, George Stevens’ beautiful movie, “A Place in the Sun,” is said to be much better than the original novel, “An American Tragedy,” by Theodore Dreiser whose coarse prose was notorious. Critics also say that the film version of “The Grapes of Wrath” is more appealing and powerful than the original novel. In addition, there is a general consensus that Victor Fleming’s “Gone with the Wind” is also as good as Margaret Mitchell’s novel of the same title.

Likewise, Ridley Scott’s celebrated film, “Blade Runner,” is just as engaging as Philip Dick’s novel, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Francis Ford Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now” is an excellent film adaptation of Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness.” The list of great movie and book pairings is endless.

Yet many people still tend to think that film is a threat to literature, a form that should be boycotted and criticized. They think of literature as an admirable highbrow art form, while dismissing film as nothing but lowbrow pop culture. Some people exhibit hostility toward film and others cave in, constantly whining, “What shall we do? The powerful, monstrous film industry is now demolishing pure literature.”

A few days ago, I met with a group of writers. When the discussion drifted into the topic of culture and arts, a literary critic abruptly raised his voice in anger, asserting, “Literature is neither culture nor art. Literature should never be mixed with culture and arts.”

“But how could literature possibly be separated from culture or arts?” I wondered. “What is ‘literature’ if it has nothing to do with culture and arts in the first place?” Obviously, he was upset about the recent prosperity of K-pop and Korean dramas called “hallyu.” And he must have regretted the fact that it is not highbrow Korean literature, but “lowbrow” Korean pop culture that is so popular overseas. Like a crusade, therefore, the literary critic seemed to have a sacred mission of protecting “pure” literature against all threatening vulgar forces ― films, dramas and pop art.

Indeed, the mighty entertainment industry seems like a threat to “pure” literature. But we do not have to antagonize it, nonetheless. On the contrary, we can cooperate with the industry and channel its energies to support and promote literature. Then literature will have powerful allies that can help it prosper and thrive. If so, we can change what seems to be a crisis into an opportunity, and turn what seems to be a disaster into a blessing. In fact, it is just a matter of changing the way we think; is the bottle half-full or half-empty? Depending on how we perceive the situation, we can be either happy or miserable. Which perspective shall we choose, then?

By Kim Seong-kon

Kim Seong-kon is a professor of English at Seoul National University and president of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea. ― Ed.