Adaptations within the entertainment sphere are nothing new. In fact, some of the greatest films and TV shows begin as something else—whether it be a book, comic, Broadway musical, or even a Dungeons & Dragons game. So, it’s no surprise that, over the years, a select few movies have made their way from the big screen to the small screen, garnering their own adaptations into larger stories in a new medium. With Prime Video’s Mr. & Mrs. Smith adaptation (which was inspired by the 2005 film of the same name) now out in the world, we thought it best to round up some other series that originally started as films before garnering success on television.
In this list, you may notice the absence of shows like Cobra Kai (spun-out from The Karate Kid films) or Watchmen (which was a film before becoming an HBO show), but we purposefully excluded series that either take place in the same universe as its original film (like spinoffs, sequels, and prequels) or pointedly went back to adapt just the source comic or novel rather than the films themselves.
Without further ado, here are our picks for the best film to TV adaptations, in no particular order:
What We Do in the Shadows
Original Film: What We Do in the Shadows (2014), directed by Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement
Based on the vampire mockumentary from Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi, What We Do in the Shadows brings the sadsack bloodsuckers Stateside. The Staten Island roommates—vampires Nandor (Kayvan Novak), Laszlo (Matt Berry), and Nadja (Natasia Demetriou), as well as Nandor’s servant, Guillermo (Harvey Guillen)—are all ridiculous and slightly pathetic. The handheld camerawork is the deadpan punchline, with every shaky zoom in on a character during a confessional implying, “Can you believe this weirdo?”
More of the humor comes from the macabre wordplay and deadpan goofiness—often thanks to Berry’s stark, blustery delivery, straight from his BAFTA-winning Toast of London, and the exasperated looks it draws from Demetriou and Guillen—which are then punctuated by violent slapstick, featuring gallons of blood. In bringing the vampire-out-of-water conceit’s mix of comic elements down to the granular level, What We Do in the Shadows harkens back to the strongest parts of the film, which thrived on its charming re-imagining of dopey mythical creatures failing through the world in a way very particular to Kiwi… or, now, Staten Island. And with its documentary-style taken just as seriously as its campy effects and extravagant costumes, the cretinous cosplay is beautifully straight-faced and completely winning—especially when the show goes to oxymoronic extremes of mundanity, like a city council meeting about zoning ordinances. —Jacob Oller
Snowpiercer
Original Film: Snowpiercer (2013), directed by Bong Joon-ho
[Unavailable to Purchase or Stream]
In the not-too-distant future, climate change has taken a turn for the worse, and scientists attempting to counteract the damage humanity has enacted upon our planet accidentally freeze the world instead. A supposedly forward-thinking “visionary” named Mr. Wilford predicts the coming disaster, and builds a train 1,001 cars long that will house all of Earth’s last remaining citizens, circling the globe without an end in sight. As is the case with society itself, the train is divided into various classes—first, second, third, and the tail—each defined by varying degrees of privilege and poverty. The series is adapted from both the French graphic novel Le Transperceneige, published in 1982 and Oscar winner Bong Joon-Ho’s star-studded, big-screen action flick from 2013 (see: Chris Evans, Octavia Spencer, Tilda Swinton, and Song Kang-Ho).
In place of Bong’s Hollywood action hero Evans, the TV series enlists Hamilton star Daveed Diggs as Andre Layton, the reigning leader of the mistreated “tailies” section of the train. Instead of a more straightforward rebellion pushing Evans’ Curtis from the tail to the front of the train, the series takes advantage of its multi-chapter format to present a complex web of lies, false identities, and complicity.
Despite being canceled ahead of its time (with the final season still having yet to see the light of day), Snowpiercer is a poignant and chilling series that examines the best and worst of humanity, and ultimately showcases a post-apocalyptic future that doesn’t feel that far off. —Joyce Chen and Anna Govert
High Fidelity
Original Film: High Fidelity (2000), directed by Stephen Frears
There’s a moment in the first episode (“Top Five Heartbreaks”) of Hulu’s High Fidelity where Robin “Rob” Brooks (Zoe Kravitz, also an executive producer on the series), explains to the audience how most people think her Brooklyn-based record store, Championship Vinyl, is either a “relic” or simply a haven for hipsters. It’s an excellent point to be made in a story about a record store owner in 2020, one that couldn’t have really been made 20 years ago when the High Fidelity feature film came out, even when the film still acknowledged just how difficult it was to make a living off of a record store even then. At this point, it would be nigh impossible if not for the reboom of vinyl (and even audio cassettes now, to an extent), which is why it at least has to be addressed before the show goes on to spend a considerable amount of time inside its version of Championship Vinyl for the rest of the series’ nine episodes.
The other thing that seemingly needs to be addressed when discussing Hulu’s High Fidelity—a television adaptation of both the 1995 Nick Hornby novel and the blueprint-creating 2000 film starring John Cusack—is the fact that the music-loving, list-obsessed, romantic failure known as Rob Gordon in this story is a woman. An African-American, millennial, sexually fluid woman instead of a white, Gen Xer straight man. It’s that specific change that pretty much makes High Fidelity worth revisiting in a modern context, because not only does it open up the dating avenues and backstories a bit more—not only is one of Rob’s Top Five Heartbreaks in this version a woman, there’s no story about her breaking up with someone because they wouldn’t let her pressure them into sex—it acknowledges in a way how much a character like Cusack’s Rob couldn’t work today in the same presentation. The movie captured a very specific space and time, where a character like Rob made sense as the “alternative” romantic comedy lead (despite being played by anything but, in the form of John Cusack); it is a time capsule that the series rightfully doesn’t try to open or replicate, or worse, replace.
Most importantly, High Fidelity is enjoyable to watch, which makes the fact that Hulu’s originally released it all on Valentine’s Day an especially brilliant choice. The series is a love letter to its source material, to the music that plays throughout, to New York City (with a gentrification undercurrent within the season), and even to the rom-com genre. Despite not continuing beyond Season 1, this series still remains a wonderful and worthwhile watch. —LaToya Ferguson
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Original Film: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992), directed by Fran Rubel Kuzui
Buffy the Vampire Slayer had it all: Romance, drama, tragedy, suspense. The show took the teen-soap formula and elevated it to an art. It was a unique combination of tragic romance, apocalyptic fantasy and the clincher: emotional realism. It also featured the most serious and realistic depiction of human loss ever witnessed on the small screen (in “The Body” dealing with the death of Buffy’s mom by natural causes). Humor? The writers understood the campy sheen that must accompany any show named Buffy. They also knew how to use snappy dialogue and uncomfortable situations to full effect. Complex characters? You’d be hard pressed to find another program that had the same range and consistency of character development. Everyone matured (or devolved) at his or her own realistic rate. As some feminist writers have argued, TV had never before seen the complexity of relationships among women that you saw with the likes of Buffy, Willow, Joyce, and Dawn. Plot? The writers employed elaborate multi-episode, multi-season story arcs. People and events of the past always had a way of popping back up, the way they do in real life. Philosophy? Series creator Joss Whedon was all about the meta, the ideas and story behind the story. He succeeded, creating a WB/UPN show that bears closer resemblance to the works of Dostoevsky and Kafka than 90210 or Dawson’s Creek. —Tim Regan-Porter
Westworld
Original Film: Westworld (1973), directed by Michael Crichton
[Unavailable to Purchase or Stream]
Westworld debuted with some big shoes to fill. The would-be successor to HBO’s Game of Thrones got weird fast and didn’t care who was along for the ride. There’s something commendable about that, as that first season set up a puzzlebox that riveted fans. Its sophomore season then further shook off the shackles of expectation and embraced the characters who (against all odds) dot its endless mysteries with pockets of genuine depth. Rather than having to answer a trick question, viewers have been allowed to experience the android-driven theme park/bacchanalia in the context of the people (and robo-people) living in and around it. Some of the best female performances on TV are lodged inside a show which started so male-gazey, eventually giving viewers a rollicking, if uneven, exploration of these twisted layers within layers the series delights in creating. And even though the series undeniably took a turn for the worst later on, Season 1 remains a pillar of sci-fi television and a triumph in its own right. —Jacob Oller and Allison Keene
12 Monkeys
Original Film: 12 Monkeys (1995), directed by Terry Gilliam
Syfy’s 12 Monkeys ran for four seasons from 2015-2018, rolling out 47 tightly-paced episodes to relatively little overall fanfare besides a devoted, fervent fanbase. Much like the 1995 film that inspired it, 12 Monkeys followed a time traveler named James Cole (Aaron Stanford) sent back in time from a broken future to try and avert the apocalypse. But this isn’t a well-funded time travel operation, and Cole is instead sent back with few resources and little actual intel as he tries to piece together, on the fly, the events that caused the pandemic that eventually wipes out humanity. Along the way he teams up with virologist Cassandra Railly (Amanda Schull) from the present day, as the two attempt to unravel the mystery together. Even now, 12 Monkeys remains one of TV’s smartest time travel shows. —Trent Moore
A League of Their Own
Original Film: A League of Their Own (1992), directed by Penny Marshall
While there are numerous excellent films centered around America’s pastime, there aren’t many TV shows set in the world of baseball. Luckily, with the debut of Prime Video’s A League of Their Own, we’ve got a new one to add to the list. But Abbi Jacobson and Will Graham’s take on the classic Penny Marshall film of the same name is more than just a show about women playing baseball in the 1940s while men are at war.
Told through parallel storylines following Carson Shaw (Jacobson), an indecisive white catcher-turned-manager for the Rockford Peaches, and Max Chapman (Chanté Adams), a talented Black pitcher barred from even trying out for the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, the show tackles head-on the prejudices of the day, from racism and sexism to homophobia (many of the women in the league are queer), as women attempt to make their baseball dreams come true. With a major focus on the Black experience and the ways in which Max must work around and outside the paths open to white women (and even Black men, to an extent), the show is able to tell a story that was only hinted at in the film. So while the actual baseball itself could be better, and the games could probably be more central to the show, A League of Their Own swings for the fences in its attempt to tell a powerful, timely story. While not every at-bat results in a home run, every step into the batter’s box allows the characters (and the viewers) to learn something new about themselves… and about the game of life. —Kaitlin Thomas
Friday Night Lights
Original Film: Friday Night Lights (2004), directed by Peter Berg
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Who ever thought football, a sport infamous for its meatheads and brute force, could be the cornerstone of one of television’s most delicate, affecting dramas? Heart-rending, infuriating, and rife with shattering setbacks and grand triumphs—Friday Night Lights is all of these, and in those ways it resembles the game around which the tiny town of Dillon, Texas, revolves. “Tender” and “nuanced” aren’t words usually applicable to the gridiron, but they fit the bill here, too. Full of heart but hardly saccharine, shot beautifully but hyper-realistically, and featuring a talented cast among which the teenagers and parents are—blessedly—clearly defined, the show manages to convince episode after episode that, yes, football somehow really is life. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. —Rachael Maddux
M*A*S*H
Original Film: M*A*S*H (1970), directed by Robert Altman
M*A*S*H is a phenomenon with an absurdly long backstory, all of it vestigial in comparison with the smash hit itself. Based on a 1970 theatrical film which was in turn based on a 1968 novel by Richard Hooker, the show follows members of the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital during their duty in the Korean War (now you know what the acronym stands for). The early conflict among the cast is a culture clash between the drafted members of the unit (most notably Alan Alda’s “Hawkeye” Pierce, the Yossarian of the bunch) and the career Army people. Plots are as much about the drama of saving wounded soldiers as they are about the absurdity of the war, and more than once the 4077th sabotages their own war efforts for the safety of their camp and patients.
Is it a sitcom? Is it a dramedy? What kind of show it is really depends on when you’re watching it during its 11-season run—a run nearly four times longer than America’s involvement in the war it’s about. (Somebody did the math: At 256 episodes set during a war that lasted 1,128 days, each episode of M*A*S*H either represents about four days of real-world time or exists in some kind of purgatorial temporal loop.) Either way, the series is one of television’s eternal classics, existing as both a cultural time capsule and the perfect rerun fodder. —Kenneth Lowe and Anna Govert
Fargo
Original Film: Fargo (1996), directed by Joel Coen
The trick of creator Noah Hawley’s anthology series isn’t just that he finds a way to take his source material—Joel and Ethan Coen’s extremely smart movie about stupid criminals—and turn the dial to 11. It’s that he’s done it for three stellar seasons. Each 10-episode installment has created indelible characters that stay with you long after the last tragic turn of events has unfolded. Whether it’s Martin Freeman’s hapless Lester Nygaard in Season 1, Jean Smart’s cold and calculating Floyd Gerhardt in Season 2, or Ewan McGregor’s bumbling Stussy twins in Season 3, each season has brought us its own cadre of terrific actors. Hawley also has a knack for discovering talent, including Allison Tolman as the first season’s quietly determined detective Molly Solverson and Bokeem Woodbine as the second’s unforgettable, calmly terrifying Mike Mulligan in Season 2. Hawley deftly explores universal themes like the death of the American dream, the struggle to feel self-worth, and the potential evil that lurks inside many of us. He does this with dark humor, eloquent violence, and thought-provoking plot twists. Hawley upends our expectations. Things never unfold the way we expect. And we cannot wait for more. —Amy Amatangelo and Whitney Friedlander
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