Unless you've been hiding under a stone, you'll be aware that the long-awaited adaptation of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons's graphic novel Watchmen is finally being released in cinemas tomorrow, after a little studio difficulty. Directed by Zach Snyder, whose previous form includes the controversial Frank Miller adaptation 300, this represents a triumph of persistence, if nothing else. Directors as eminent as Terry Gilliam (himself no stranger to apparently unfilmable books), Darren Aronofsky and Paul "Bourne" Greengrass had all tried, and failed, to bring the novel to the cinema, with actors rumoured to star including Jude Law, Tom Cruise and – potentially catastrophically – Arnold Schwarzenegger as one of the book's most fascinating characters, mild-mannered scientist turned blue demigod Dr Manhattan.
So far, the film has split critical opinion, with the vocal element that demanded a more or less literal adaptation of the novel delighted and those who might have preferred a looser, more obviously cinematic experience disappointed. But its very existence as a (relatively) compact piece of cinema seems almost unbelievable. Gilliam, having tried to come up with a satisfactory means of condensing it, commented: "I keep thinking it would be better as a miniseries – a five-hour miniseries." The graphic novel attracted a huge amount of critical praise, and was featured in Time's list of the best 100 English-language novels from 1923 to now, for the way in which Moore and Gibbons moved on from the straightforward good/bad dichotomy that had dominated comic books and graphic novels in favour of a looser, more discursive meditation on history, society and man's capacity for evil. All of this was depicted in a manner that owed as much to modernist novels as it did to comic books, with the sprawling narrative encompassing countless plot strands, most of which would pass the reader by until a subsequent reading – in some cases, many subsequent readings.
Watchmen, however, is far from the first apparently unfilmable novel that has made it to the screen. Over the past couple of decades, the likes of Naked Lunch, The English Patient, Perfume and even Ulysses have been adapted for the screen – with vastly varying amounts of artistic success, but with at least good intentions from talented directors. (Amazingly, Philip K Dick is practically a house author in some studios.) The days when Hollywood could take Patrick Hamilton's nuanced, psychologically fascinating Hangover Square and cheerfully turn it into a grand guignol shocker, which climaxed with the deranged protagonist playing a piano concerto on top of a bonfire incinerating the body of the woman he has murdered, are, thankfully, over. Mass-market taste, in the form of such initiatives as Oprah Winfrey's book club, has ensured that books that might once have been called "too difficult" for cinema are now allowed to keep at least some of their quirks intact.
There are still books that have defied the adaptors, despite years of work and millions of dollars spent on attempts. It may be that JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye will eventually be filmed after his death, but this has not stopped fevered speculation for decades as to who would be perfect for the role of the disaffected Holden Caulfield – a role so central to the narrative that even the slightest miscasting would be disastrous. Likewise, the long-mooted adaptation of John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces creates such a vivid protagonist that putting a mainstream comic in a fat suit would represent a betrayal of the original material. Given the sacrifices involved in its publication, it is surely better that no film ever be attempted than a substandard one be made.
On the other hand, some books that seem to be ideal for filming have never quite made it to the screen. Donna Tartt's The Secret History – which surely represents a brilliant chance to make a ballsy, suspenseful version of the middlebrow "inspirational teacher" pap that Hollywood has churned out for years – still sits in development hell, perhaps scaring off potential producers with its complex literary allusions and theme of student murder. Yet in a world where the allegedly difficult work of Ian McEwan and Cormac McCarthy can be adapted into Oscar-winning cinema, and where "the Citizen Kane of comic books" seems poised to clear up at the box office, one has to hope that the persistent rumours linking Gwyneth Paltrow with an adaptation of Tartt's novel are true, and that she can divert herself away from her new website long enough to become involved with what could be another triumph for imagination and success against the odds. Watchmen took 22 years to bring to the screen; let's hope that The Secret History may yet appear before 2014.
