A Love-Hate Relationship

I finished reading the Percy Jackson series weeks ago.

I watched the movie yesterday.

Loved the books. All five of them.

Hated the movie.

See, here's the thing. A lot of people might say that Percy Jackson is some sort of Harry Potter rip-off and well, they're kinda right. Admit it, Chiron is Dumbledore and Camp Half-Blood is a less foggy version of Hogwarts. And hello, female sidekick Annabeth is soooo Hermione. Daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom? C'mon.

But despite all that, I still reaaaally liked the book. It was clever and fun. I loved the fact that Poseidon was kind of a beach bum, that the boatman of the Styx wore a suit and tie, and that Apollo was so into haiku. I was really looking forward to the movie. I even skipped work (oops...) to watch it.

Now, I have an extremely high tolerance to cinema bullshit. I watch movies with disbelief unbelievably suspended, but Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief was a crushing disappointment. The departure from the actual storyline was so... well, departed (seriously, I don't know what word to use), I'm beginning to suspect the screenwriter only read the book's back cover summary.

I'm not going to be all spoiler-y for those who haven't seen it but trust me... they might as well have turned Percy into half-man, half-hippocampus traipsing about the continental United States with flowers in his hair. If I were Rick Riordan, I'd have a hissy-fit.

The only parts of the movie I even remotely liked were the water fights. The whole Moses-ain't-got-nothing-on-me scenes. (see The Ten Commandments. Or The Prince of Egypt. Same difference.) Well, there's also Logan Lerman's swimmer's abs. But THAT'S IT.