Saw V for Vendetta again yesterday. I would have thought that with the time that has passed since I first saw the so-called movie adaptation, my views and feelings for it would have softened. Alas, I still feel as strongly about that piece of shit — if not even stronger.

At first, upon hearing the news that a movie adaptation of the graphic novel by Alan Moore and David Lloyd was being made, I must admit to being quite excited. Having already read — and consequently fallen in love with — the original masterpiece, my expectations were sky-high. I remember thinking, if they pulled this one off, we could have a movie that could rival Fight Club in terms of having an impact on western culture (or rather, sub-culture). Although, at the same time, I was vaguely aware of what the consequences would be, should the adaptation fall flat on its back. Time, it turns out, proved all my worst fear for this project come true.

Before I begin with my dissection of the movie, let me first apologize for my naïvete. At this time, I should have know better. I mean, come on! Really! What was I actually thinking about? An American production company, helmed by Joel Silver (the man who epitomizes the term ‘style over substance’); A screenplay written by the Wachowski Brothers (who, with The Matrix Trilogy, proved how inept they are at understanding the mechanics of good dialogue); A first-time director whose ‘impressive’ career includes ‘highs’ such as being assistant director on The Matrix Trilogy and Star Wars: Episode II; And last, but not least, released by Warner Bros., a division of Time-Warner, America’s largest media conglomerate. Really, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

For those of you that actually enjoyed the movie: Read the fucking book! Because if you found this boring tripe to actually be even half-intelligent, then it’s glaringly obvious you haven’t read the original graphic novel. Buy it, read it, then torture yourself by watching the movie again. Then, and only then, can you have even a slight concept of what I’m about to say.

The first and most obvious fault with the movie is that the film-makers never got what the essence of the book was really about. It’s not about democracy vs. fascism. It’s not about one man’s fight against the system. It goes beyond that. The original V is about anarchy vs. totalitarianism; Two opposite extremes. It’s about a man, transformed so much by events that he has transcended being a mere human being, becoming the embodiment of the idea of anarchy. It’s about a young girl, at first almost oblivious to the horrors around her, but through her encounter with V, becoming more than V. It’s about raising questions, as a reader, about what really is right and wrong.

And this is where the movie first fails: You never really question the motives and actions of V. In the movie, V is a purely rational character. All his actions are rationalized and accounted for. After all, Norsefire are fascists. Therefore, they are evil. Therefore, what V is doing is right. The graphic novel paints a broader picture. V never full explains his motives, nor does he feel the need to. The original story strongly suggests that V is suffering from schizophrenia, to even further make the reader question the legitimacy of his actions. In the book, the Norsefire characters are shown as what they really are — human beings. They have feelings, they have love, they have (some more than others) compassion for others. They are you and me. Now, ask yourself, are the Norsefire characters in the movie human beings, or just cardboard cut-outs of the Nazi prototype?

Then there is the way the movie tries agonizingly hard to make a comment on current affairs. The allusions towards the way the Bush administration is handling the war against terror are just too obvious to be ignored. They might as well have renamed Adam Sutler to Charles Bosch, or something (although, why did they rename Adam Susan to Adam Sutler in the first place?). The thing is, in the book, there are very few references to contemporary Britain. Whilst setting up the back-story, Moore even wrongly predicted how Labour would win the 1983 election. The fact that London in V is — like most of England today — covered by CCTV cameras, is more a result of life imitating the art. What Moore actually did, was to try and understand how the Nazis could rise to power in Germany, and if and how this could happen in Britain as well. The effect being, that the original story has — although specific years are mentioned — a feeling of timelessness. That this could happen at any time. Producer Joel Silver proudly declared this a ‘movie for today’s audiences’. Well, what about tomorrow’s audiences?

To further prove my point: In the book, V is not a terrorist, but an anarchist. He makes this point very clear early on, declaring to Madam Justice that he, though once he loved her, has found another love: ‘Her name is Anarchy. And she has taught me more as a Mistress than you ever did!’ And, as he blows up the Old Bailey and topples the statue: ‘The flames of Freedom, how lovely, how just. Ahh, my precious Anarchy…’

I leave it to you to try and figure out why the film-makers decided to throw away the whole concept of anarchy…

Now, don’t get me wrong. I do understand that in the process of adapting a novel to film, choices needs to be made. Some sub-plots and characters need to be cut out. But, the challenge lies in doing this whilst staying true to the themes, and thereby the essence, of the original material. And this is where the movie has failed. They have taken Moore’s masterpiece, cut it to pieces, and remade it into a farcical satire on current events in America. They could have made it a bold statement on freedom, the choices we make and must make to stay free, and how frail a thing freedom as a concept truly is. Alas, they didn’t have the balls to do so. Again, they have made style over substance. They have polished it to pieces, making it acceptable to the masses; A popcorn-entertainment product to sell to casual movie-goers. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Evey was a would-be prostitute! And don’t even get me started on the decision of having an on-going love-story between V and Evey. The truth is ugly. The truth is gritty. Failing to accept this, they have made mess out of a literary masterpiece.

My sympathies lies with Alan Moore. His baby has been raped, brainwashed and conformed to fit the Hollywood mould. I can only hope that no major movie studio lay their hands on his works, ever again. (Though I realize that this is a near-impossibility.)