The Talented Mr. Ripley / Ripley Under Ground / Ripley's Game

I have to say that I'm a bit disappointed in this. I think it is a rare case of not one but both of the adaptations I've seen being better than the source material.

Anthony Minghella's 1999 film with Jude Law as Dickie and Matt Damon as Tom, has a lively excitement and almost eroticism (especially in the first third) that the book simply does not have, almost shies from. Plus, we get the legendary Philip Seymour Hoffman as Freddie.

The more recent adaptation, the 2024 mini-series directed by Steven Zaillian featuring Andrew Scott as Tom and Johnny Flynn as Dickie, feels custom-made for me. Scott is about double the age of book Tom, and I did not find Johnny Flynn to be in any way comparable to Jude Law (but then, who is?), but the ambiance, the cinematography, and the fantastic performances by Scott, Dakota Fanning as Marge, and Eliot Sumner as Freddie (even if not remotely book accurate) produce a thing that is much more compelling than this book.

It is very readable, I'll say that. Few chapters if any are more than 10 pages, so there's always a sense of getting one more chapter in. Then again, Tom is simply not an enjoyable character in this debut. His self-hatred becomes tiresome, and while there are interesting bits in his exploration of Dickie and navigating his schemes, it all falls a little flat for me.

I wonder about the reception of this book on its publication in the 1950s. The 1999 film will have viewers thirsting over Jude Law. The 2024 mini-series has us thirsting over Andrew Scott, wishing we could go on a European vacation with the ill-gotten-gains. The 1955 book gives us a (closeted? probably?) Ripley that essentially detests everything, most of all himself; he is capricious, and mostly trades off of the incompetence or good faith of others, not necessarily his own cleverness.

I am not sure why I expected the book to be a little more gay, or at least a little more gay-friendly. I think many of my fellow gays have fallen for a straight guy, perhaps had the question of, “I don't know if I want to be him, or sleep with him.” Tom clearly has this feeling, but is self-hating to the point of denial and scorn. Almost to the point of unawareness. I guess this was the expectation in the 1950s. The book rarely misses a chance to throw out words like fairy and sissy and queer, and again, I guess these are all the words that would be going around in the 1950s. The end result, however, is not the erotic, dark, passion of the 1999 film or even the 2024 adaptation. Instead, the scene of Tom dressing as Dickie feels more like Norman Bates wearing his mother's clothes than something of passion. Tom is simply very cold, and his blue flame only crackles to life when he is smashing someone's head in with an ashtray or lying to the police about it. Or, watching someone else struggle to lie.

In any event, the book is readable but after the first third it became a little laborious. I have a copy of the third book, but I probably will not get around to reading any of the sequels.