( 1 ) Truman Capote reportedly disliked the movie adaptation of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, especially the casting of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly, saying it was “the most miscast film I've ever seen. It made me want to throw up.” Capote had wanted Marilyn Monroe for the role.

Reality CheckThe trouble with Feel Good.

Reality CheckThe trouble with Feel Good.

Issue 55

, Starters

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  • Words Caitlin Quinlan
  • Photo Aaron Tilley

What would Hollywood be without the happy ending? Heroes saving the day, star-crossed lovers kissing in the rain, good triumphing over evil—these cornerstones of American cinema are so ubiquitous that they have become embedded in our cultural consciousness, clichéd tropes that are now an unavoidable expectation. 

When adapting an existing story for Hollywood, ensuring its ending is a happy one is nonnegotiable, even if it requires making drastic changes to the original work. Take Truman Capote’s somber novella Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which became the definitive romantic drama of the 1960s in Blake Edwards’ film adaptation, or P.L. Travers’ acerbic literary Mary Poppins, who was transformed into the all-singing, all-dancing Disney version.1 And it’s still happening today—in the English-language remake of Danish thriller Speak No Evil, the original’s grisly ending was made far more palatable, with the main characters managing to escape rather than meet a sticky end. 

Mainstream, studio-produced films are often built from tried and tested templates. The three-act structure, with its curving arc from action to resolution, is synonymous with Hollywood screenwriting, and the happy ending is merely the last box to tick in this formulaic model. Narratives with sad, morally conflicting or traumatizing conclusions, like the original Speak No Evil, upset this balance; they defy expectation and leave audiences without the desired escapism or catharsis that often drives viewing habits. 

“I don’t know what it is about Americans, but they are brought up for a heroic tale, where the good must win over the bad, and this version of the film cultivates that,” said Christian Tafdrup, the director of the original Speak No Evil, upon the release of the remake in 2024. For movie studios, such predictability makes good business sense—give the people what they want and they will continue to buy tickets. Yet, the cinematic landscape this fosters is uninspiring and unambitious. When we opt for the path of least resistance, we miss out on the shock finales, the letdowns, the unresolvable tensions that are valid and interesting conclusions in their own right, and reminders of film’s poignant ability to reflect the realities of life back to us. Though catharsis might be tempting, it’s the opportunity to experience something thornier and more complex—with an unhappy ending—that makes movies so invigorating.

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