When I was fifteen, I was set on becoming an author.
This decision included spending my evenings in my small-town coffee shop, wearing non-prescription glasses, and giving myself a pseudonym because, for some reason, Haley Griffin didn’t have a ring to it.
So Jane Harper was born.
I became attached to Jane Harper the way someone becomes attached to a list of baby names. To me, the name represented the novel I had spent so much time developing, as well as someone I wanted to become. So, you can imagine how heartbroken I was when a brand new author debuted with a New York Times’ bestseller. Her name?
Jane Harper.
After some crying and a slight identity crisis, I decided to buy the book to see if this Jane Harper was more deserving of the name than I was. Then a freshman at Berklee, I swung by the Barnes & Noble in Boston’s Prudential Center and purchased her novel, glaring at the name on the cover that was nearly the size of the novel’s title: The Dry.
On a rainy day, I made a steaming cup of chamomile tea and grabbed a throw blanket, curled up on my dorm bunk, and dove into my new book. I ignored the back cover so I could go into the story with no preconceived notions, which made the opening paragraph even more grabbing:
“It wasn’t as though the farm hadn’t seen death before, and the blowflies didn’t discriminate. To them there was little difference between a carcass and a corpse.”
It was the best start of a book I’d ever read. In the two-page prologue, Harper established a haunting desert landscape that would go on to touch every aspect of the book, while also hooking the reader by masterfully introducing a family murder.
I stayed in my bed for hours, turning page after page, and there was never a single misstep. From Harper’s captivating use of setting, to her strong characterization, to the most unexpected ending, it was one of the most impressive pieces of literature I’d ever come across.
You may be asking yourself why I’m bringing up a book that was released five years ago: to keep you up to date, the film adaptation was quietly released in the United States earlier this year, produced by Reese Witherspoon. And like all bookworms, I wanted to make sure this film held true to the book.
I went from being Jane Harper’s jealous inferior to a fierce defender of her story.
So similarly, on a rare rainy day in Los Angeles, I cozied up in my graduate apartment at USC and rented The Dry on Amazon. As a learned behavior from past film adaptations, I went into the viewing a little bit pessimistic. But I was pleasantly surprised.
What Harper painted with her use of language, the film conversely tells in silent cinematic shots. The film opens with a vacant desert landscape and a slow scan of the crime scene, with the only sound being a crying baby, alone in the house where her family was murdered, and her life is mysteriously spared.
From there, we’re introduced to the protagonist Aaron Falk, played by Eric Bana. Now a big detective in Melbourne, Falk returns to his hometown for the Hadler family funeral, but he’s met with pushback from the town. Decades old gossip reignites as locals claim Falk killed his high school girlfriend, Ellie Deacon, all those years before. Meanwhile, we learn that one of the victims, Luke Hadler, was Falk’s childhood best friend, and is rumored to have performed a murder-suicide of his own family. After Luke’s parents beg Falk to stay and investigate to prove Luke’s innocence, Falk pairs up with the local townie cop, Greg Raco, to uncover the truth, while also facing the loss of Ellie from his teenage years.
Not only does the movie stay true to the novel, but it has an advantage that the book did not: a score. Used sparingly, the film either chooses silence or spacious, dark ambience over the present day investigation. The only time a suggestion of a theme occurs is in the flashbacks of Falk during his high school days, back when there wasn’t a drought and two of the main characters were still alive, further supporting the story by representing both the vitality of the land, as well as Ellie and Luke. And in the music’s absence, the loss of these characters is felt even more.
As for the cast, I’ve been a fan of Eric Bana since his performance in The Time Traveler’s Wife. Here, he captures the mysteriousness of Falk, leaving the viewer unsure of his trustworthiness. All the while, he plays the cool, collected detective who’s been hardened by his experience that perfectly contrasts the small town attitude of the other characters. Other highlights include Keir O’Donnell, who brings a sweetness and innocence to the local cop Greg Raco, as well as Bebe Bettencourt, who debuts as Ellie Deacon. Deacon is a complex character who’s struggling beneath the surface, and Bettencourt’s subtlety makes it the most real performance in the film.
While I still recommend reading the book first, the movie passes the test, since it sticks to the original plot entirely. The main challenge was going to be if the adaptation told the story at the same caliber without the aid of Harper’s narrative gifts. And by leaning into devices like score, cinematography, and a spot-on cast, the film does The Dry justice. And Jane Harper did the name more than justice: she earned it.