But not all films are inferior to the books they are based
on. Some – and this is the case with Still
Alice, the movie about early-onset Alzheimer’s – improve on their source
material. It was helpful, of course, to first read the book, which, within its
292 pages, provides a wealth of information about the disease while creating a
compelling central figure – a renowned Harvard linguist in her early fifties, perplexed
by her memory issues.
There is an obvious irony here. A woman who is an expert
on language is reduced to struggling to remember the names of household items
and even of her children. I read the book with much interest, but also some
dismay. The author, Lisa Genova, never makes clear that Alice’s variety is a rare strand of Alzheimer’s, one that within
two years can wreck a person’s life. The book is separated into long sections,
each of which identifies the month and year. Alice notices her first symptom –
she forgets a key word in a lecture that
she had been giving for years – in September 2003. Three months later she is
diagnosed.
She reacts much as I did, much as anyone would: “Time. How much time?”
In Alice’s case, it appears to be not much at all. Her
decline is precipitous. Before long she is plotting a suicide plan, ahead of
when she will be too impaired to carry out her death. By March 2004, just six
months after her first symptoms, she is having trouble finding her way when she
walks to the Harvard campus, a walk she had been making for years. Three months
after that, conversations on the phone “often baffled her.”
The closest Genova comes to explaining why Alice’s disease
is progressing so quickly is when she comments, “Although Alzheimer’s tended to
progress more quickly in the early-onset versus late-onset form, people with
early-onset usually lived with the disease for many more years longer, this
disease of the mind residing in relatively young and healthy bodies.” But the
implication of this awkward sentence is that the fictional Alice is typical of early-onset Alzheimer’s.
There is a world of difference between being diagnosed
with standard early-onset Alzheimer’s, where life expectancy can extend beyond a
decade, and the much rarer form depicted in the book and movie.
Unlike the book, the movie makes clear that Alice is
experiencing a rare form of the disease.
Like the fictional character, I experienced a downturn in
my professional work that baffled me. But in the two years since my symptoms
became prominent, my decline has been relatively slow. I continue to read
books, magazines, and newspapers as I have always done, though at a somewhat
slower pace. My math skills, never great, have taken a hit, but with a calculator
at hand, I can balance a checkbook.
I still love to
engage in stimulating conversations, though I am more likely to lose my train
of thought.
My point is not to congratulate myself. I understand that,
barring a medical breakthrough, I, too, will eventually be severely disabled,
unless something else kills me first. But the pace of the disease is the
crucial distinction. It is one thing to be forgetful, as I am, and to misplace
things, as I do. It is quite another thing to leave one’s cellphone in the
freezer and not find it until several days later, as Alice does.
It’s understandable, of course, that a novelist would want
to limit her novel’s timeframe for dramatic reasons. But in this case, Hollywood
exercised the better judgement. The movie does make clear that Alice has a
rare, fast-moving form of the disease.
The movie is also superior because of the presence of Julianne
Moore. What a magnificent actress. Each stage of decline is depicted plausibly
and powerfully.
And this movie’s brief love scene is unlike any I have
seen. The mind weakens, fades, but love (and carnality) endure.
I just wish that
this all-too-realistic movie had a happier ending. For that, we may be waiting
a long time.
I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge
the role of two people – one a stranger, the other my wife – who have made
important contributions to this blog. Max Maclaren provided much-needed
technical assistance in getting the blog to look the way I wanted it to. Paula
Woolley, proofreader extraordinaire, is an expert at catching my mistakes.
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