Well, we're getting an action-movie 3D adaptation of Paradise Lost. As someone who has five copies of John Milton's epic in my apartment, I suppose I ought to be raging, wailing, and tearing my hair over this. But it's as if writing about popular culture has infected me with a paralyzing neurotoxin, and I can only give an epic shrug and accept the inevitable butchery of a terrific work. There are ways of adapting the basic concept of the Fall that might actually work quite well. A movie version of the events of Neil Gaiman's Season of Mists, in which a bored Satan quits as overseer of Hell, hands the key to the reluctant Lord of Dreams, and heads out to hang out on the beach in Australia, prompting some inter-mythic rivalries and intrigues, provides a more easily navigable plot framework and probably the best, most containable way to make a Sandman movie (I can't even deal with the CW's planned adaptation of the graphic novels. I just can't).