Many people have read the book this film was based on. I haven’t, yet I still found myself lamenting its stylistic adaptation choices, despite no knowledge of the source material. It’s that kind of movie. Positioned as a prestige period picture – complete with a brutal setting (Nazi Germany), a literary metaphor, a doomed friend and a kindly foster parent (Geoffrey Rush) – The Book Thief fails to come alive for any sustained amount of time.
You can sense the resonance the tropes may have had on the page, but on film they stumble forth feeling clichéd and tired. It feels mean to rag on a film with a fragile little girl as its protagonist, but the sprawl of the film prevents any single thread from fully forming.
One thing I did like that came straight from the book is having the story narrated by Death, voiced in this instance by the perfectly cast English actor Roger Allam, who was so awesome in Tamara Drewe and Speed Racer.
There’s some handsomeness to what’s on display in The Book Thief that prevents it from being an entirely worthless experience, but whatever lofty artistic goals the filmmakers may have had are definitely not met.
