The Book
Deliverance by James Dickey is a brutal book that arguably popularised the movie subgenre of people going into the Boonies and getting well and truly f&%ked up.
Told entirely via the first-person POV of Ed, the novel paints a picture of a frustrated, bored man who works in advertising. He has the picture-perfect life: a wife and a child, plus his business is going well.
Yet Ed hankers after something more, day-dreaming of models and even seemingly his friend Lewis (there appears to be a frisson of h*m*eroticism not present in the movie, despite the screenwriter being Dickey himself).
The beginning expertly sets up and foreshadows what is to come
The book blurb of this edition makes it clear from the outset the men are in a space they ‘shouldn’t’ be …
‘Unskilled and naive, they paddle downstream, enjoying the exercise and the gorgeous scenery. But something is in the air. There are small signs at first: their canoes hit sudden rapids, the river’s full of litter and bird feathers, and during the night their tent is punctured by the talons of a hunting owl.’
Nature is hostile to the men, yet these men continue in their foolish journey into the unknown. We understand that these men are certain of themselves and the lives they’ve carved out for themselves, yet they want something more – and like so many white men before them, they’re going to take it.
Dickey describes the friends as ‘colonising’ the woods as they set up camp – an expertly chosen word that demonstrates this theme with panache.
And of course, the attack by the mountain men, hailed as ‘random’ by some critics, is anything but
It reflects that sense of entitlement and power outlined in this review. The book version of Bobby’s attack is every bit as excruciating as the infamous scene in the film.
The haunting scene is underplayed and not sensational. The men’s reactions to it – including Ed’s inner disgust at Bobby being ‘tainted’ but then chastising himself – is hyper-realistic. In fact, I’ve read and watched countless modern accounts of such repugnant violence that is not handled as well as this 50+ year old novel and movie.
The men’s subsequent plan to conceal Lewis’ killing of the mountain man is believable. Of course, none of them would want to face hillbilly justice at the hands of the dead man’s relatives, plus Bobby would not want it ‘getting out’. 1970 was not a time male victims of s*xual violence would receive sympathy (some would say that’s still the case in the 2020s).
Of course, it can’t be a simple solution and the second mountain man returns to exact revenge
The second mountain man knows the terrain and becomes a ‘bogeyman’ figure up on the cliff-face. Drew’s sudden death is shocking, as is have-a-go hero’s Lewis getting taken off the board via his broken leg in the rapids.
The traumatised Bobby unable to cope, Ed must take up the mantle. He must become their saviour, first by climbing the cliff and then dispatching their potential murderer.
A lesser novel would end there, but Ed and Bobby have to get Lewis to the hospital. They’re also forced to deal with Drew’s body when they find him washed up and broken further downstream. From there, they have to get their story straight so police won’t look where all the bodies are.
This raises suspicions for some in authority, but ultimately Ed, Bobby and Lewis ‘get away with it’ – though you know they don’t, really. The events will leave a stain on their lives forever and rightly so.
This is not some wish-fulfilment narrative about righteous kills and ‘goodies versus baddies’. These men went to where they were not supposed to go … and paid the ultimate price.
Book Versus Film
Many viewers of the movie don’t realise Deliverance was a book first. As a movie, it is a seminal work. There’s so many iconic moments: the banjo, the hillbilly child, Burt Reynolds with his leather jerkin and bow and arrow.
The movie starts a lot faster than the book, with all four men hitting the road from the offset. This means it’s a surprise for some readers that the novel starts ‘before’ … but it shouldn’t. All the ‘run up’ of the novel is expertly eschewed, with viewers joining Ed and his friends as they enter the wilderness.
This is exactly the right decision for film. Novels have the luxury of lingering inside a character’s thoughts, but cinema has to communicate visually. By dropping us straight into the journey, director John Boorman immediately establishes momentum and tension.
We don’t need pages of Ed wondering whether his comfortable suburban life is enough. Instead, we infer everything from the men’s interactions, their banter and, crucially, their confidence.
That confidence is what both versions are really about
The novel allows us to sit inside Ed’s head as he repeatedly questions himself, envies Lewis’ physical prowess and wrestles with his own moral compromises.
The film externalises all of this through Jon Voight’s restrained performance. He’s quieter than his literary counterpart, but no less conflicted.
Likewise, Burt Reynolds’ Lewis becomes even more mythic on screen: a swaggering survivalist who believes modern civilisation has made men soft. Reynolds’ natural charisma makes Lewis fascinating, but also dangerously persuasive.
The supporting cast are equally strong. Ned Beatty gives Bobby a vulnerability that makes the assault scene almost unbearable to watch, while Ronny Cox turns Drew into the group’s moral centre despite relatively little dialogue.
Perhaps the film’s greatest strength is how it uses the landscape itself
On the page, Dickey can describe the river as alive, ancient and indifferent. On screen, the rushing water, towering cliffs and dense forests achieve the same effect without words.
Nature doesn’t simply provide a backdrop; it becomes another character. The wilderness neither judges nor forgives. It simply exists, utterly unconcerned with the men struggling within it.
The screenplay is remarkably faithful, probably because Dickey was the screenwriter as well. Most of the major plot beats remain intact, and crucially the themes survive the transition.
What changes is emphasis. The novel spends more time interrogating masculinity, guilt and Ed’s internal transformation. The film pares much of this back in favour of relentless suspense. Neither approach is superior; they’re simply using the strengths of their respective mediums.
If I have one slight preference, it’s for the novel
Dickey’s prose is extraordinary: muscular, lyrical and frequently unsettling. Being trapped inside Ed’s increasingly fractured mind adds another layer of horror that cinema simply can’t replicate.
That said, I believe the film deserves its legendary status. Few adaptations capture the spirit of their source material so completely while still functioning as outstanding films in their own right.
More than fifty years later, both versions remain deeply uncomfortable, morally complex and surprisingly modern
Neither offers easy heroes or villains. Instead, they ask what happens when ordinary men convince themselves they can conquer a place that was never theirs to conquer in the first place.
That’s why Deliverance still endures. Not simply as a thriller, but as one of the finest examinations of masculinity, entitlement and survival ever put on the page or the screen.
