Why are films about writers so deeply unsatisfying?
Last night I went to see 'Iris'. I hated it. Firstly, I feel quite strongly that she would have been mortified to be remembered as infantile, struggling to find appropriate usage for her beloved vocabulary and shuffling from one room to another like a rootless ghost. Her writing appeared as a footnote to her disease. Is film a completely inadequate medium to convey a writer's essence? Are filmgoers so anti-intellectual that they need to be entertained and not educated? I can't think of a film about a writer's life that has left me feeling inspired or satisfied. Perhaps I am wrong. There were moments in the film that made me think, made me cry and affected me. However, there is always a sense of the film-makers' artifice that just strikes too false a note for me to surmount. Are writers left best on the page?
What do you think?