So Why Choose That Book? The Controversial First Edition of J-Lo’s Film
I did have myself a
shocking giggle when I watched the scene from The Boy Next Door. I like Jennifer Lopez and her movies, and didn’t
expect much when someone posted the video saying, “No one caught this
ridiculously glaring mistake.” Usually my reaction is, “Oh, get over it.”
When the young man comes
in and hands Lopez a “first edition of the Iliad”
I was dumbstruck. How could he be so naïve? I wondered. Everyone knows Homer’s
epic poem to be an ancient Greek tale, right? Obviously that’s not a first
edition because it was originally an oral telling, and even when it was finally
put in print that was still much older than the copy looked. (Year 1616 is the
earliest English translation I’ve found so far.)
I assumed one of two
things: The script had only written “a first edition,” and the prop master, possibly
going off of a list alone—though that seems foolish for a major motion picture—just
made an old looking classic book. Or they were looking for Ulysses, a story about the odyssey of one soldier returning home
from the Trojan war, written by James Joyce in 1918. But really did no one say
anything? Possible, if the director was a colossal dick-head. You get a bunch
of people who don’t care about the project dealing with someone who tears them
a new-one for idiotic reasons, you’re probably not going to be the one to say,
“Wait a minute…” especially considering the possibility that you might be the one
poorly informed.
Including me.
I typed in “first edition
of” and before I even got to “Iliad,”
it had popped up. Apparently this was a pretty popular question. In fact, the
first thing to come up was about people’s search for first editions copies
incited by the film.
As it turns out, the
director had made a comment.
While the original
screenwriter claims no responsibility over the scene, it having been added long
after she lost any control, the director claims that this choice was
intentional and he’s not an idiot, but in fact a collector of first editions
and knew exactly what he was talking about. He explained that a “first edition”
is not necessarily the first ever printing of a book, but the first version of
printing by a company, or rather, the first “setting of a type.” If the company
decides to do a second (or more) printing without making any changes, the book
is still considered a first edition, but first printings of first editions are
what’s collectable.
So, he argues, it was a
first edition of the Iliad.
The argument makes sense.
Pretty well informed, in fact. Yet while it is accurate, something still
doesn’t seem right. There is something about that seen that still comes across as fake.
I once wrote a somewhat
controversial (in which everyone had staunch opinions) post about what to
do when the truth is vastly different than what common assumption is. I
discussed examples like how the preview audience of Cloverfield was certain the head of the Statue of Liberty was 100
times the size it actually was, or what to do when the technical name of
something is different than what locals use. In it, I discussed the common
problem of when your audience is more naïve than you are, and yet you’re the
one who looks wrong. What do you do?
He should have been aware
of what the common populace’s belief of what is meant when someone says “first
edition.” Considering he wrote that specific scene and helped decide on the
actual prop, he definitely pulled that specific title out of somewhere.
According to the prop
master, the copy seen in the film is an 1884 translation by Alexander Pope. The
first printing of his work was in 1715. One copy of this version was going for
2,500 pounds, which, according to the last time I went to Britain, is close to
5,000 American dollars.
So my first thought was
that they were just looking for any book that fit the aesthetics and a first
edition of Pope’s translation of the Iliad would be considered valuable; they
picked that title because it fit.
But Annie Brandt’s exact
words were, “"While searching for copies of the Iliad that would be used for the film, the style and look of this
book was chosen by myself and Rob Cohen.”
(The actual prop in the film was printed by a company who wanted to make
beautiful versions of classic novels, as many publishers do today.)
If her wording is correct,
it means that the Iliad was chosen
before the copy was found. The director picked it deliberately.
Again, why?
We have the overall issue
of most people thinking “first edition” means the true first edition. This, as
a collector, as a writer, as a director, and as someone with a room filled with
people making the scene, he should have known. Maybe he did and just chose to
ignore it. But for what purpose?
Let’s start in-world. Why
did the character choose that book?
According to the director,
he lied about getting it from a garage sale so as not to embarrass her. That’s
what I assumed when I heard him say those lines; it just sounded like a lie. If
we pretend that the lie is true, which is far less ridiculous than a person who doesn’t
know how valuable a book like that would be happen to have it lying around, the character made the
point of finding it and buying it.
Some years ago I ended up
buying a signed anthology of short stories for my boyfriend’s birthday. It cost
an arm and a leg, but featured over 200 signatures (huge book), including
Stephen King and Dean Koontz. It was horror, which I knew he liked, and
obviously contained some known names, but the book itself was not something
which most people would recognize the title of, and though he likes King, he’s
not his favorite writer. I bought it because it was the coolest option of what
was available to me. First editions, signed copies, and even good looking books
are hard to find, especially if you want something specific.
A first edition of
Alexander Pope’s version would require a lot of effort and money to find. And
if we were to say it isn’t Alexander Pope’s version, but another first edition,
if it was something that anyone cared about, it would still not be sitting
around in some bookstore. I’d wager it’d be in a private collection, available
for sale strictly through them. If it wasn’t one of these coveted versions then
I’d have to ask who cares? In fact, even if it was Pope’s edition I’d still
have to question the character’s reasoning. While a book is a great gift to get
into a bookworm’s pants, I’d have to say that the Iliad would be low on my list. Sure, if I got offered it, great!
But I much rather have a personal gift—like any old version of the guy’s
favorite book—or, if we were going to go for grandiose gestures, I’d want a
book I loved, one I cared deeply about, was interested in, inspired by.
Personally, I rather have the complete compilation of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series. Out of the classics, the
Iliad is a wondrous but dense and
tedious read, one that I have no intention of completing again. If I was going
to spend a lot of money on a booklover, I would first and foremost try and find
something that is more than just, “You like books and first editions are
expensive, here you go!”
And that’s where we get to
the nitty-gritty. The book was not chosen due to its availability. He had to
seek it out. If we were to stay with in-world criticism, only two things can be
assumed: the young male is ignorant to most literature and, like many
pretending to be wise in the field, stuck with what he knew to be considered
great, or it was genuinely personal, as in the Iliad was her favorite classic novel or maybe it was a translation
she believed to be important, a preference that many teachers have. But
considering her reaction, I’m going to go with no. Later the director claimed
it was because that’s what she was teaching and what they bonded over.
Especially knowing her
first statement was about money, lacking any sort of surprise or genuine joy,
the whole scene seemed incredibly superficial. It looked to me that the
director chose the Iliad because it
was a classic. It made her look smart. He picked that prop because it was
attractive whereas most first editions are fairly cheaply made (as they are
meant to be read), ugly from the damage and fading over the years. He wanted
something expensive because as we all know, women only care about money.
Even if we were to say
that it was the audience’s naivety that caused the backlash, even if we were to
say that it’s their own damn problem, that moment could have been much improved
by a different book. Instead of having another generic literary lover who likes
all of the academically approved things, she could have been defined better by
a more specific choice. He could have been defined by the book he gave her. I’m
not saying him handing over a first edition of Lolita wouldn’t have turned heads, but even something like Lady Chatterley’s Lover would
have simultaneous linked back to the movie’s concept, hinted at him already
pushing his boundaries, and been less likely to get people to roll their eyes
at the grandiose gesture being that, while a classic, it is a newer classic and
one that you wouldn’t expect every college student claiming as their favorite.
If he had picked something less generically “good literature,” it would have
suggested the director’s love of fiction and not as much his desire to look
like he loved fiction. I’m not expecting a J-Lo flick to be intellectually
stimulating and wouldn’t ask them to make it something it doesn’t want to be. I
like them for their lack of social risk taking. However, when you have a writer
writing about a character who loves literature, I do expect more insight, less
airs, less snobbery, more honesty.
The willing incredulousness of an Iliad first edition came down to the false feeling of the moment.
Perhaps if, as a book collector, the director had really considered what books
he would actually want, what books were actually obtainable, and what books
really meant something to these characters, people wouldn’t be so quick to
write him off as an idiot.
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