My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard is an obvious choice. "Perhaps not even the most franchise-desperate executive in Hollywood could justify producing 20 hours of long takes in which a handsome Scandinavian bathes his children while dissecting the meaning of Hitler in affectless voiceover."
How about Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves? LH thinks it would be "a bloated, messy shitshow of a film." I thought it was a bloated, messy shitshow of a novel. So I guess I'd agree with their opinion.