Welcome to the first of what may well become a series here on STK: Can Somebody Please Explain…?, in which I appeal to the collective wisdom of the interwebs in order to gain a greater understanding of things which, to me, just do not make sense.
Now, I have nothing against Discworld. I’ve read a few of the books, some of which were fantastically clever and funny, and I adored the TV adaptation of Hogfather. All of the DEATH books and the Tiffany Aching books are in my to-read list. Pratchett certainly has ideas and wit coming out his ears, and I applaud his creativity.
The Color of Magic. The book that started it all. The book that was popular enough to launch a series of 39 (as of now…) books.
Or, as I like to call it, THE BOOK OF DEATHLY DULL BORINGNESS OH DEAR WALLABIES I CAN’T EVEN CONCENTRATE MY MIND JUST WANDERS OFF ON ITS OWN TO THINK ABOUT THAT FUNNY NOISE MY CAR’S BEEN MAKING AND HOW FAR CAN I GET IN THE FIBONACCI SEQUENCE AND I SHOULD START DOING MY LAUNDRY BECAUSE NONE OF THIS IS INTERESTING IT’S JUST STUPID AND WEIRD.
I tried to read it. I really did. I wanted to love the series that so many others have loved, and since I’m more compulsive than is entirely healthy, I wanted to start at the beginning.
I made it through the first 20% before giving up. And it was like pulling teeth the whole way. SO MUCH STUPID BORING WEIRD. I don’t mind weird, if it’s done well. In a way that’s coherent and clever and fun. Not in the “random stuff happens and appears and nobody knows why and it’s not even funny” kind of way.
So, yeah. TCM and I did not get on very well. I did go on to read a couple of the other books, mostly when forced to by friends, and enjoyed them more, though never enough to engage in the undertaking of reading the whole series (or at least a few of the sub-series).
Then the TV adaptation of Hogfather showed up on Netflix, I was bored…and it was pretty darn brilliant. It was clever and fun and I liked the characters (Susan is teh awesomesauce) and cared what happened to them. So, all of the DEATH books ended up on my to-read list.
And I figured, hey, there’s a TV adaptation of The Color of Magic; maybe it will be better than the book? Or at least easier to get through. I’m not above taking the easy way out with certain books (A Song of Ice and Fire, I’m looking at you. Sweet Mother of the Eternal Flaming Hedgehog, I am never putting myself through the misery of reading one of those books EVER AGAIN. HBO can do my reading for me.)
So, being exceedingly bored tonight (I’ve been sick; I am SO TIRED of watching TV and reading I just don’t know what to do with myself), I decided to give the film TCM a chance. I got out a puzzle to do to keep my hands busy, and settled in to watch.
DEATHLY DULL BORINGNESS OF STUPID BORING WEIRDNESS.
Okay, it was marginally better than reading the book, if only for the amusement provided by seeing Tim Curry and Sean Astin. BUT STILL. By the last half-hour of Part 1 I was surfing the internet and barely paying enough attention to notice what stupid predicament Rincewind and Twoflower were in. And Part 1 basically covers all of the book TCM; Part 2 is based off of The Light Fantastic, book two of the series.
Readers (Hi, FBI!), help me out here. I DON’T GET IT. Yes, the Discworld series had lead to some truly fantastic things. But given that TCM is so incredibly deathly dull that even a film version with TIM FREAKING CURRY in it can’t keep my attention, how in the name of the Eternal Flaming Hedgehog did it:
- receive enough attention/garner enough sales to convince a publisher to continue publishing the series
- GET PUBLISHED IN THE FIRST PLACE?
Seriously, my lords and ladies and readers of all genders, I DON’T GET IT.
Pratchett fans, descend! Help a girl out, will you? What am I missing?