by Jake Bourgeois, Contributing Writer
As I stated in my recent review, I waltzed into the Netflix miniseries, Ripley,as a complete The Talented Mr. Ripley noob.
However, even without the requisite experience, it was clear that swing was unique. Initially what intrigued me was that the book it’s based on is relatively short, not much more than 250 narrative pages, but there were other questions, too. I was intrigued as to what is changed and what the extra time is used to stretch out, aside from the lingering shots. Is the fascination with Caravaggio present in all, or a thematic element added for this series? What about the character of Ripley himself? How does the character change for the screen. Then there’s the 1999 Matt Damon film. How does that compare?
I’m tackling all of those questions and more to discover how the original novel and these two adaptations tell the same general story: Thomas Ripley is sent to Europe on behalf of the father of Dickie Greenleaf and embeds himself into Dickie’s life with deadly results.
Let’s dive in.
First, generally speaking, there is a clear hierarchy in my mind of which I prefer. It goes miniseries, movie, then book. I’ll dig down into specifics of why as I go through some of the details, but as an overall reaction, I think that while the book provides a great framework for the scripts that came after it, there were things that both adaptations took advantage of, being visual mediums and, most importantly, a change in how Ripley comes across from screen to page, that makes me prefer them.
The novel is told from Ripley’s perspective — complete with narration of inner thoughts. The issue here is not unlike why I think the film version of The Silence of the Lambs is a skosh better than the novel: I’d prefer not really knowing what’s going through a character’s head so explicitly in key moments. By having the thoughts as the background notes for the performances, the adaptations allow for the actors to do the work by showing and not telling. It’s the big reason the novel is my least favorite of the narratives. I just couldn’t get invested in the story. It makes the first third a slog to get through and, honestly, if I wasn’t writing about it for a column, I would have stalled out on page 60 or so. As far as the performances go, this one’s not particularly close. I much preferred Andrew Scott performance. It’s more nuanced, harder to read, and just hit me better than Damon.
Regarding the other characterizations, Marge is given the most to do in the film version, as portrayed by Gwyneth Paltrow, and I actually liked the change. I think the difference in her resolution plays better with her general mistrust of Ripley and his goals. The other character that’s very different in all three is Freddie. There’s not much characterization in the novel, as he’s really just there to be a thorn in Ripley’s plan. I prefer the miniseries version narratively, as Eliot Sumner’s Freddie is given a previous encounter with Ripley that adds something to their relationship. However, Phillip Seymour Hoffman definitely makes the film version stand out.
The movie does something the other adaptation does not: It adds in two additional characters and greatly expands a third. I’m not sure the new characters were worth it. The first, Meredith Logue (Cate Blanchett), does a couple things. First, it gets Ripley hooked into the Dickie lie right away, probably planting the seed for later. In the middle, there’s a connection to Freddie and some interactions, but it weakens the middle part of the novel, because it takes the focus away from the steps he’s taking to pull off the ruse (and it’s no longer a one-man show). The second is a local girl Dickie impregnates in Italy. While I get it could tangentially help the deception that he isn’t really in love with Marge, I’m not sure it’s worth the effort, as it pushes the inciting incident closer to the halfway point. Concerning the third character, Peter Smith-Kingsley (Jack Davenport) gets just the barest of mentions in the book as a friend of Ripley’s in Venice and is excluded entirely from the miniseries. I’m not sure his expanded role is worth the pros for the cons. Like the new characters, I do like the twist on the narrative that it allows for in the third act, but what it does to beef out the second act isn’t needed.
Now, let’s get to the narrative rundown.
Spoiler warning: While I’m not going to get super specific in the breakdown, I will be talking about overarching plot details. So if you haven’t seen or read any version of this story and want to stay unspoiled, stop now.
To start things off, each version gets us to Europe slightly differently. While the book hints at his hand at forgery in the past, the miniseries devotes the most time to it, showing off the skills that will help him in his crimes later. The film version doesn’t even touch on the forgery at all, nor does it start with Ripley being recruited in a way to think someone is coming after him for his crimes like the other two. He’s simply recruited based on a Princeton jacket he borrows as a fill-in for the actual player. The film starts by focusing on Ripley’s skills of impersonation first, pushing the forgery foray later on, which I didn’t mind. The impersonation of the elder Greenleaf for Dickie’s benefit shows off that skill beautifully and in a scene I thoroughly enjoyed.
When we get to the inciting incident — the murder of Dickie — both the novel and the miniseries plant the seeds of it being something that Ripley is considering. It’s execution (so to speak) is cold, calculating, and in line with the character that we see for the rest of the novel. In contrast, the movie plays it as more spur of the moment. Ripley doesn’t mean to strike him at first, really, and he’s forced to struggle with Dickie before finishing the job. In the other versions, once that train starts rolling, it doesn’t stop until the job is done. Admittedly, it was a creative choice by the film that perplexed me — particularly since that version’s Ripley racks up a higher body count by the end.
From here, we get to the crux of why I think the miniseries is my preferred version of the narrative: how is the inspection/murder cleanup is dealt with. It’s my favorite part and what interested me the most, and the miniseries spreads that out a little bit longer than the other two versions. How Ripley executes his plan and the pinch points in the actions he takes is a focus of the narrative and really heightens the tension of the game he is playing. It focuses on the forgeries and the tension of whether they will pass muster to get him needed funding. It draws your eyes to possible mistakes in the murder coverups, asking you to wonder if that will be his undoing. It fleshes out his cat-and-mouse game with the inspector and makes him a real adversary. It’s not really as much of a focus in the book or the movie, just the middle third. Whereas in the miniseries, the final third (which I wasn’t as interested in), gets told in just the final episode of eight.
The other change between the three was how art plays into the story. For both the novel and the miniseries, Dickie’s medium is painting. The series adds in Ripley’s fascination for Caravaggio which helped strengthen the thematic work the show was doing, particularly when paired with the classical score. In the film, his art is jazz, a change I think makes sense for the medium. It allows the film to take the music and weave it into the story in a way that feels cohesive.
As far as the technical aspects between the two adaptations, the color in the cinematography does not help things as much as I thought it might for the movie. It feels very ‘90s, whereas the miniseries is a much more technically sound. It’s more gorgeous in black and white than the movie is with a full palette. Script-wise, it’s perhaps a bit counterintuitive, but somehow the characters make a 140-minute movie feel too long, when I was largely fine with the series being more than three times as long. Though there are times where the pacing drags in the miniseries, the lingering cinematography is also a strength in other moments. Both stories do manage to use the visual medium to their advantage to give the film a real sense of place as our characters gallivant around Europe, something I missed in the book.
Overall, I came away with a clear favorite version of the story. I loved the miniseries, whereas I merely liked the movie and thought the novel’s potential was realized much better in both adaptations. Though it is possible it played a role, I don’t think my preference is down solely, or even mainly, to the fact that Ripley was what I happened to consume first. Based on its technical prowess and it being interested in the aspects of the thriller that I was most interested in, it earned that ranking purely on its merits.
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