They say the book is always better than its film adaptation. So, when you watch a film like Martin Brest's classic Scent of a Woman, featuring Al Pacino's brilliant performance as a blind officer, you expect the novel to blow you away and leave you breathless. After all, if the adaptation is that good, the literary source material must be even better. Then, you read the novel.
Originally titled Darkness and Honey—a name presumably intended to highlight the novel’s themes—in many editions, the title was changed to Scent of a Woman due to the success of the 1974 film adaptation, which was highly praised and remained truer to the novel than the American version.
If you’ve seen the film, you already have a general idea of the story. A retired blind officer, after losing his sight and one arm in an accident caused by his recklessness, now lives a life of bitterness and hatred. He hates the world because he hates himself. He’s an alcoholic, rude, and arrogant. He spends freely, though he’s wealthy. He cares nothing for money and doesn’t believe in love, even fleeing from it when it’s offered to him on a silver platter. At least, that’s what he claims, but the truth is more complicated.
Ciccio is a young soldier tasked with spending the next seven days as Fausto’s assistant—essentially, his eyes. Together, they travel across Italy, from Turin to Naples, though the true reason for Fausto’s journey won’t become clear to Ciccio until they reach their destination. Ciccio is a nickname Fausto gives to all his assistants—a name more suited to a dog than a person, but that’s just who Fausto is. He doesn’t care much about what others think.
This is a journey of two blind men: one figuratively and the other literally. By the journey's end, both will realize certain truths that had eluded them. In a way, it’s their destined path. At least, it was meant to be. Unfortunately, whether it’s due to the translation or the fact that Arpino simply didn’t have the strength to deliver a powerful, emotional story and fully exploit its potential, I can’t say. What I can say is that Scent of a Woman is a mediocre novel. Its first half is somewhat worthwhile, but it later dissolves into a sea of muddled dialogue that is supposed to teach us something but ultimately leads nowhere.
What hurts the most is the characters' lack of emotion and depth. A story like this should be brimming with both. Just watch the film, and you’ll see what I mean. The tango scene alone between Pacino and the young Gabrielle Anwar is worth more than the entire novel.
The characters—Fausto, Ciccio, and Sara—feel like cardboard cutouts inserted into the book pages without much life. Fausto occasionally shines, allowing us to piece together a somewhat clearer picture of him. Ciccio, however, is one of the dullest narrators you’ll ever encounter, while Sara was meant to personify love itself. Instead, we get a lovestruck girl whose obsession overshadows her credibility. Yes, she sees beyond Fausto’s bitterness and doesn’t mind his disabilities or the fact that he doesn’t love her. But how did she get to that point? Yes, he loves her but pushes her away, believing he doesn’t deserve her—he’s too scarred and doesn’t want her to see him as he is. He believes she’s too young to waste her life on someone like him. Yes, she loves him unconditionally, wants only him, and doesn’t care about anything else. She even studied medicine because of him. But all of this feels unconvincing and fails to engage the reader.
The back cover even describes it as a humorous story. Unfortunately, that humor eluded me entirely.
After finishing the novel, you’ll realize you don’t care about the characters or their fates, nor does the book leave any emotional impact. It’s a shame because Arpino had an extraordinary story here, but its execution fell flat. You’re better off rewatching Brest’s film (or the Italian version if you can; I’m sure it is as good as it gets), which handles the material much better. It’s a testament to how a skilled screenwriter like Bo Goldman can elevate source material and create a film that surpasses the book.