Eat Pray Love: All My Thoughts

 whoever read my posts from January, or just has heard me talk about my life, will recall how deep an impression the film had on me. And it's kind of banal, to be frank. I originally watched the film after having read that "the pizza scene" changed someone's life, or body image, or whatever we wish. So, let me first describe what the movie elicited in me.

I was, honestly, stunned. Stunned by the travels, the gorgeous foods and people, though I might say the cinematography was average. Good editing, of course, is what doesn't call attention to itself, but good cinematography might be harder to define. I just haven't felt like any of the shots had left any lasting impact on me, or the soundtrack, for that matter. The single exception is the Brazilian song, Samba da Bencao (I apologize for not using the proper letters), the Portuguese immediately stroked my eardrums in a familiar way, and I found the song to be quite soothing, enjoyable. I even have it on my spotify likes now. And in fact, the scene of Liz eating pasta, paired with an opera piece, kind of unnerves me every single time I watch it. That seems like bad editing, or maybe just bad choices, to me. Why on Earth did they choose a German opera for a scene set in Italy? And why is it a song about "Der Holle Rache kocht in mir", that is, "the anger of Hell is boiling inside me"?

Plot-wise, I had few complaints, and all of them pertained to the beginning. Liz leaving her husband seemed a little off. Her suffering with David, also poorly set up. I was getting the impression that this entitled woman didn't really know when she'd had enough, so she kept trying to bite off more and more, and somehow still didn't feel its taste. Selfishness is what I saw, her own worldview so warped that no-one would fit into her life.

I did watch the film several times, though, and it was fun. All great for my lockdown, depressed brain.

Then, just for shits and giggles, I went on to look for the book, and holy hell, am I stunned.

Now, not only is the relationship between original and adaptation inevitable, it tends to bring in questions of value. And I honestly wouldn't want to downplay the merits of the movie, but it being based on a person's real life and still being so Hollywood, kind of put me off it for now. So, let me sum up the book.

The book is broken down into 109 parts, which, quite annoyingly take up the first few pages as a table of contents - while being just a series of numbers, with no subtitle or such. Then, we start with number 109, which explains the structure. I liked this Liz a lot more, she seemed full of fun facts, the kind of knowledge I'm always down for. You could call me at three a.m, and if you started with "i have a fun fact for you", I'd only be pissed if I already knew it. Liz explains she broke down her journey into three, 36-part stories, so that each country's experiences will take up exactly that much. Lovely, now I couldn't stop looking at the numbers, wondering how far along into what kind of progress we were.

I wish I could say that the book describes its author's motivations better. In fact, in some places, she outright tells the reader, it is not their business, and while I respect her choice and boundaries, I can't help but be reminded of all the selfishness I saw in (into?) the movie.

Overall, the part about Italy had been a journey of self-discovery for me. Liz tells us about seeing Italian men in the street, and immediately imagining them "in bed". This shocked me. This is a thing I never do, am entirely incapable of, and whenever I hear it, it takes me by surprise, so I just shove it away in some dark corner of my mind. But now I didn't shove it away, I asked my man, "do people actually do this", and prayed that he'd be honest with me, trusting that I can handle any jealousy that might pop up. He did say "yes", and I did have to sit with my feelings for a minute, but ultimately, desire doesn't count as cheating for me. Wanting fries isn't a "cheat meal", eating them is (and the entire concept of a cheat meal is dumb, for me; I practice food polyamory. balanced eating, or intuitive eating, or whichever way you wish to call it). So, there I was, facing that I didn't react to "hot people" as "normal" people do, or the majority of the population, anyway. I do sometimes want to call myself demisexual, but even now, the spell checker underlines it. It doesn't even influence my life so greatly. It does result in having circa zero libido when having no partner, but that is no downside - in fact, actual desire is sometimes too overwhelming. But this thing is the reason for never being able to even imagine the concept of a one-night stand, and I would hate to be called "just traditional". I'm not. I'm just not gonna be attracted to people, unless the stars are in a great position. Another problem this would raise me is the following: I find the concept of a threesome (or, for that matter, more) quite hot, and yet, I would never actually get to try it, because I'd need a connection to all my partners.

Another bit that just drove me up the wall was Liz talking about how she wanted to get off her antidepressants. I would say I'll never judge another person's medical choices, but I am gonna judge hers, especially since she wrote an entire chapter about them and decided to ask money for her opinions. To me, she clearly needed them. She was suicidal, she did get a psychiatrist to give her a prescription, and they worked for her - they worked for her so well, that she could fine-tune her dosage in a matter of weeks. And then, she fucks off to Italy and decides that whatever inspiring, historical air Europe has, will get her off the meds. She genuinely suffers without them at this point, she could easily access them, and she chooses not to, for seemingly bullshit reasons. She says she doesn't want to take pills because "Americans generally are already overmedicated", while she clearly needs them.

You might say I don't understand her struggle. That I'm self centered and unable to consider how shitty it must feel to have our "sanity" depend on "pills". I do understand this struggle. I've had it in my own life. And I am still dependent on my pills, for the simple reason that my thyroid decided to retire early. I cannot come off my meds, I require constant (yearly, minimum) medical supervision and checkups, and if I ever were to try for a pregnancy, I'd have to get the levels entirely readjusted. I had two choices: live a full life, "depending" on pills and the constant supply of them; or rebel and face some medical emergency. You might say my life isn't full, because I need my pills to live. I wish you never get in this situation. This is the fullest I can live, and I'm not gonna wait around.

So I believe that it is dangerous to any aspects of one's health to act against expert advice. Of course, you cannot test for depression the same way you test for hypothyroidism, you have to rely on your feelings and other symptoms, while I have a blood test. And the American healthcare system is a grotesque, laughing monster. Still, making the decision in one's personal life is one thing, making up an entire chapter's worth of arguments is another, and the decision to ultimately profit off of this, while sort of peddling it as glow-up advice or inspiration is a third, different beast. So while I think Liz coming off her meds in Italy was irresponsible, I am still judging her a lot more for arguing for this, than just making the decision.

I did greatly enjoy the Italian part, despite these paragraphs making a different impression. Her style is light and fluffy, and not just in this third of the book, but throughout its entirety, Liz creates this rollercoaster of seriousness and then levity, so we do understand the depth of her feelings, but aren't left with a sour taste even after a sour experience.

Then we travel to India, and here did I begin to notice great differences from the film. I will be trying to minimize the comparisons just yet, so let me say: the film has added a few scenes, cut others, and created composite characters. This, so far, is natural and doesn't always mean disagreement on my part.

However, in India did I really notice how spiritual Liz was. She did talk about it before, but of course, now we were at the source. We do get insight into her struggles, friendships and whatever, but there is so much - might I say - alternative stuff, that I cannot really touch on it. She details her struggles with meditation, with chanting, she makes a conscious decision to stay at the Ashram despite having had different plans, and she makes a lot of friends, that the film all condenses into Richard.

Bali hit me really hard. It was, generally, the same thing as the movie, maybe in a bit less screen-friendly way. Nothing was as dramatic, and an entire, really fun character was cut from the movie entirely. What was my problem then? That Brazilian boyfriend of Liz! G0d, I wanted to claw my eyes out at each sentence they exchanged, I was yellow with envy when he asked her if she wanted him to be her lover, and I actually bit into myself when they first had sex. Because, I'm not gonna deny it, I'm a massive fucking horndog for my man. My blood just about boils if I try to imagine him touching me, let alone anything more. And there I was, reading how this Brazilian man gave Liz some Portuguese nicknames, how he undressed her, how she spent an entire month basically in his bed and sometimes, meditating, on his porch. She describes in a paragraph how she got really horny, too, and only imagining him would help her... which just reminded me of this one occasion when I was imagining him, here with me, and which ended with me crying on my bed. Never before have I cried after, and hopefully I won't again, because it was such a shock to me. So, yes, this entire chapter had me burning from envy and desire, and I'm very very glad to have finished the book.

Now, let me talk about the composite characters. Almost all of the friends Liz had in India were smashed into the shape of Richard, Tulsi was kept around but ultimately married off just as she dreaded, and Corella was turned from an actual experienced Yogi into a vapid beauty person. What shocked me more is that some of Liz's most impressive ideas, and those that had a great effect on her spiritual journey, were also reassigned to Richard. In the book, she never struggles with the devotional work; she struggles with chanting (we can, in fact see this in the movie, but..); and Richard gives her the advice to devote this activity to someone. Of course, in the movie she wouldn't devote it to a nephew we hadn't heard of, but Tulsi being a plot device to a white woman doesn't sit right with me. It was also Richard, in the movie, who suggested to Liz to try and meditate in the garden, whereas in the book, she was inspired by another woman's expertise in a certain type of meditation. It gives us entirely different vibes!

Liz's spirituality is another question that I bet the movie left ambiguous on purpose. Just from watching, I thought Liz was sort of left in between any forms of spirituality - the awkwardness of her first prayer, referring to some Sanskrit chanting as unsettling she needs, just had me believing she was like me, lonely and skeptical. Film!Liz might be, but Book!Liz was not at all like that. Film!Liz also had some questionable experiences at the Ashram, which were entirely made up for the movie, and gave the impression, first and foremost, that it was ultimately a place of disappointment where she had to flourish on her own (well, with the guidance of a Texan). The Ashram in the book was not at all like that. There was no surprise in the Guru not being there, no jokes on Corella being in silence, it all seemed very authentic - perhaps because I was seeing it more through the eyes of a person perceiving them as authentic.

Let us all consider a small bit of irony here. Liz describes in her book that she, after all her friends had left the Ashram, wanted to change, to be The Quiet Girl, who seems ethereal, always in meditation and in devotion, because she'd been chatty all her life. This, to a lesser depth, is present in the movie, too.

The irony is: I am that quiet girl. I never speak. The farther I can be from the center of attention, the better. I always seem to be lost in thought, never actually happy, but always with a thing on my mind. And yet, I want to be Liz. I want to be the chatty woman who can make friends "with a stack of crates", I want her publishing deal, to go travel around the world on the money I'd be given for the promise of a book about it, later; I want to be in the arms and bed of my (actually, for once, existing) Brazilian man. We want to be each other, but we can only be ourselves. She says, G0d dwells within you as you. She says, we are like this because we are the Universe, living itself in a certain shape, so change is not needed.

And finally, let me just mention how in the book, Liz and Felipe don't fight about balance. He asks if she wants him to be her lover, she says no, but they continue their friendship and eventually changes her mind. She also isn't hated by the random woman at Ketut's house (his wife, in fact), she comes to love her and doesn't protest at all when she tries to get printed instead of handwritten copies of the books - that seemed like a cop-out in the film. And last, the trip Liz and Felipe take at the end, is not according to his plans, but hers.

Overall, the film takes a lot of Liz's personality and initiatives away from her. This does leave her as more of a blank slate to any viewer to project onto and imagine living the experiences she did, but is entirely inauthentic to the depth and personality she demonstrated in her book. Of course, one won't notice just while watching the film, and it is a great comfort movie, but I just keep tasting the sourness of this. It feels hurtful, especially since there's so much emphasis on her not wanting a man, but maybe needing one, it would be nice to see her be capable of actual initiatives (besides, you know, "I don't want to be married"), and I find it quite sad that the escapism this movie is hitching itself to wouldn't allow for it. Of course, it's easier to relate to a woman asking after some smartass advice if her friend "always talks in bumper sticker", but a lot more fun (for me) to be able to see the world through the eyes of a woman who asks for advice, doesn't just bump into it, and takes initiative.

I'm not gonna tell you not to watch the movie. Hell, while my netflix is still live, I'm gonna watch it a few more times myself. It does give me hope and comfort, after all; but I'd highly recommend reading the book, if you liked the movie, or if it felt like something fun, but not entirely satisfactory.