I acquired the book of Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind, and I was thrilled. I devoured the book at hand and managed to finish it (after periods of interruption and frustrations) after two days and a night.
I watched the movie first, if you remembered. The movie was after all an almost faithful recreation of the book, with the characters brought to life solidifying my imagination and enhancing my memory as each pages were procreated as flitting and well-befitting as the concoction of the words that were used. The book was a mediocre work of a god, that if you know what I mean. I was merely (an understatement) drawn by the words which were as clear as they were colorful, as they reverberated in the inner recesses of my brain. If Grenouille was so intoxicated by virginal scents, I was allured and drugged by the wondrously harnessed texts. I forgot I was just a reader. At least temporarily. The story was a perfect work of a genius with Grenouille being a perfect murderer, a sublime image of a psychopath, a personage worth hating and loving at the same time.
I definitely gave a thumbs-up for the story, the plot. The movie, however, still could not contain the delightfully macabre description of everything that was on the book. Don't fret for the movie though. It is as volatile as the book, and to watch it is blissful as reading the book, however with certain degree of homage to the book.
Spoilers. The movie salvaged 12 virginal scents with the addition of the final scent, that was Laure's, to complete the perfect scent that Grenouille concocted in his mind. However, in the book, Grenouille needed 24 sacrificial virgins and Laure, to perfect his gallery for the creation of his infamous perfume. A major modification? That's why sometimes movies suck. And we who watched suck the most. So read! Lol. Click.