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(Note: this article will include mild spoilers for both the book and television series. Yes, I’m also aware that the first three books in the series were adapted into a feature film in 2004. Like everyone involved in the production of the film, I choose to pretend it never happened.)
The television series adapts the story of the Baudelaire children, whose parents are killed in a fire in the beginning of the first book, forcing them into the care of a nefarious villain named Count Olaf. Without getting too deep into the plot, the book ends with them being bounced to another guardian while being pursued by the villain. And so does the next one. And the next one.
I read the books several years ago, but I almost gave up on them. A thirteen-volume series, even when those thirteen volumes are relatively short, is quite a commitment. After the fourth or fifth book, though, the pattern wasn’t only obvious, it was tedious. I felt like I was reading the same book over and over again with slightly different set dressing, and as rich as the text itself was, the plot was in no way satisfying. I kept going, though, on the advice of a friend (not the one from the first paragraph) who assured me that the series eventually improved. And eventually it did -- the formula was changed slightly, but more importantly, the books started to delve into the backstory of the Baudelaire parents, the truth about their deaths, and the nature of their relationship with Count Olaf, Lemony Snicket (the book’s narrator and pseudonym of author Daniel Handler), and a mysterious organization called the VFD.
The series ends ambiguously, without wrapping up the mysteries. Sometimes, that’s okay. It doesn’t bother me, for example, that we never actually see the Blair Witch, and I’m perfectly happy drawing my own conclusions about the last two survivors in John Carpenter’s The Thing. But when the only reason you keep reading a story is because of the mysteries and the mysteries are never solved, you feel cheated. Yes, I know that part of the thesis of the series is that real life is bleak and offers no answers. I understand that. But just because I understand the message doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to think it’s an unsatisfying message.
I need to be clear here: when I say “satisfying,” I don’t necessarily mean that I needed a happy ending. A satisfying ending can be bleak or dismal or conclude in the sudden death of your entire cast. What makes it satisfying is not that you feel good at the end, but that you feel like the plot, characters, and themes have been resolved. Look at any Shakespeare tragedy. Look at Rogue One. Look at Lord of the Flies. None of these are feel-good entertainment, but all of them end in ways that seem appropriate and complete, and that’s what we didn’t get in the Series of Unfortunate Events books.
I was on the fence, honestly, about whether I would even watch the TV show, but I was home by myself and I was looking for something to binge that I could watch while my wife was at work and I liked that Neil Patrick Harris, so I gave it a shot. The first season, for the most part, is a pretty faithful adaptation of the book, and a good one. The performances are wonderful, the use of Patrick Warburton as our Lemony narrator is inspired, and the whole thing is perfectly suited for the sort of universe producer (and director of the pilot and several other episodes) Barry Sonnenfeld does so well, with one foot in fantasy and the other in reality, and the two intertwining in both lovely and macabre ways.
As the series went on, I was surprised at how deftly the mystery was woven into the story. It was far more prominent and engaging than the in books, introducing new characters and new elements that helped enhance the whole thing. Daniel Handler, who wrote the novels, is a producer and writer on the Netflix series as well, so it was never a question of taking away anything from the original series. The changes here were all changes of addition, and they were well-considered.
Then, just when you’ve reached the end, or so it seems, we get an epilogue. Evidently, the information here is drawn from another book, The Beatrice Letters, that’s an adjunct to the series. Why the hell Daniel Handler chose to put the actual resolution of the series in a spin-off book is yet another maddening thing. It would be as if George R.R. Martin wrapped up A Song of Ice and Fire without resolving any of his plots, but then told you about them in a Dunk and Egg novella. Regardless, the final episode takes the long, dark story of the Baudelaires and manages to bring things to a conclusion with a sudden, surprising ray of hope. And sometimes, a ray is all you need. The final scene of the series is beautiful, uplifting, just a little sad, and absolutely perfect.
Hollywood likes to adapt popular books, comics, video games, and so on, because they’re afraid to take chances on unknown properties. Stories that are successful in other media, they believe, will bring their existing audience with them, thus minimizing the risk to the studio. It’s a stupid reason to do what they do, and a lot of the time we wind up with adaptations that, even if they aren’t wholly terrible, are at the very least inferior to the original story. But every so often we get an adaptation that’s not just a retelling. It’s a second draft. It’s a chance to get the story right. It’s a chance to fix the mistakes that happened the first time and give the audience something more. For people who enjoyed A Series of Unfortunate Events, and especially people like myself, who enjoyed much of the books but found the whole sadly wanting, the fact that Netflix gave us a second draft is very fortunate indeed.
Blake M. Petit, whose personal series of events has been more inadequate than unfortunate, has been pontificating about pop culture online for over a decade. You can follow him at BlakeMPetit.com and, if you're feeling generous, check out his books on Amazon.
I'd start in on Stephen King books, but considering the author of this column, I will take a pass on that
I've gotten to the point where if I want to see something based on a book that I haven't read, I now default to watching before I read.
The Civil War movie (and Infinity War, frankly) is much better than the comic, but it's SO different that I hesitate to even call it an adaptation. It's almost a completely different story that uses the same title and similar themes.
As far as Civil War goes - in fairness, the only way to make that story good was to completely change it. So mission accomplished!