So all those episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry keeps interviewing insane chefs are true?
Michael Caine on being in the restaurant business (from Cinema Rettro):
It's not as if Caine needs the money. He is a very wealthy man, largely because he once owned three hugely successful restaurants. "I sold them all 10 years ago. I found that chefs were more annoying than bloody movie stars. They're so temperamental. You can't say anything to them. And I picked all the nutcases, I did. So I got out. Someone offered me a fortune and I left."
------
A hardboiled guy gets soft-boiled: Greg Shepard, publisher of noir and hardboiled Stark House, e mailed me:
Just read your blog entry for Ms. Whitney. The very first mysteries I ever read were Phyllis A. Whitney mysteries, as published by Scholastic Books. First read them in junior high. I loved those books. Wish I could remember more than a few titles: Mystery of the Disappearing Cat, Mystery of the Isle of Skye. I may not even have those right. But I do remember loving those books, so rich in characterization, and always filled with great mysteries. Phyllis A. Whitney will be missed by many, but I miss her just because she was the very first writer to introduce me to the wonderful world of mysteries.
---------
She's Back
I've never been a big Whitney Houston fan (beautiful woman but not an interesting singer) but it's nice to see her come back. This is from Roger Freidman's column:
What a difference a year makes!
At last year’s Clive Davis’ annual pre-Grammy gala, Whitney Houston barely left her seat and didn’t even rise to meet Al Gore. She was tentative and fragile.
But last night at the Beverly Hilton, it was a fully restored, fun-loving Whitney who moved around the ballroom with grace. She spent a chunk of the evening away from her table with Davis’ family and hung out with Alicia Keys’ gang, including collaborator Kerry “Krucial” Brothers and manager Jeff Robinson down near the stage.
“Write some good things about me,” Whitney said, and we talked about her upcoming album. She’s healthy and focused and clearly engaged. She watched clips on the video screens of her past performances at Davis extravaganzas, I thought, with a little yearning. Maybe next year, she’ll be back up there.
-----------
Some quotes from Donald E. Westlake from Brainyquotes:
I don't do anything about maintaining quality, I just try to tell a story in such a way as to interest myself. I leave questions of quality to others.
I don't know that any one book was of larger than normal significance in my career. My method has been more like water torture, one drop at a time.
I find characters who are at cross-purposes with society, or opposed to society in some way, interesting because they are by definition the underdogs.
I had an idea for a multiple robbery story that I thought would be ideal for Parker because it would irritate him so.
I loved it, but social reality impeded. Now I wander in here at 9 in the morning or so, and come back for a while in the afternoon. I am a very lenient boss.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Phyllis A. Whitney
Both Steve Lewis and Bill Crider are reporting the death of Phyllis Whitney. I'm excerpting her NY Times obituary below. In the course of editing Mystery Scene I worked with Phyllis several times. She was a charmer. And a worker, her last bestseller appearing when she was 94. I started reading some of her books after getting to know her slightly. I really liked the early ones best, the working-girl mysteries set in the war years of Chicago. They were romances, yes, but not sappy ones; and she was a true and honest reporter of what she saw in the city.
February 9, 2008
Phyllis A. Whitney, Author, Dies at 104
By DULCIE LEIMBACH
Phyllis A. Whitney, a prolific best-selling author of romantic mysteries, young-adult novels and children’s mysteries for more than a half-century, died on Friday in Faber, Va. She was 104 and lived in Faber.
Her death was confirmed by her daughter, Georgia Pearson, who said the cause was pneumonia.
Ms. Whitney, who once said she stayed young by writing, continued to publish books until she was 94. Her last was “Amethyst Dreams” (1997), about a young woman who stands to inherit a fortune but who has disappeared from a family seaside villa. Only her best friend can help find her.
Her first book, in 1941, was “A Place for Ann,” a young-adult novel about girls who create a personal service organization doing jobs like dog walking.
In all, Ms. Whitney produced 39 adult suspense novels, some with a Gothic twist (with titles like “Woman Without a Past” and “The Glass Flame”); 14 novels for young adults (“A Window for Julie,” “Nobody Likes Trina”); 20 children’s mysteries (“Mystery of the Scowling Boy,” “Secret of the Missing Footprint”); several books about writing; and many short stories for magazines.
(more)
HIn 1988 Ms. Whitney received the prestigious Grand Master Award for lifetime achievement from the Mystery Writers of America.
“I always told myself that when I get old I’ll reread all my books, but I never seem to get old,” Ms. Whitney said in an interview with The Times when she was 79.
She said that one of her writing tricks was to set her books in places she had visited. She called her vacations book-hunting expeditions.
(more)
Ms. Whitney’s travels began early. She was born Phyllis Ayame Whitney on Sept. 9, 1903, to Charles J. Whitney and the former Mary Lillian Mandeville in Yokohama, Japan. (Ayame means “iris” in Japanese.) Her father was in the shipping and hotel business.
Her parents had met in the United States and become sweethearts but initially broke up. Afterward, Ms. Whitney’s mother married another man, Gus Heege, an actor, and they had a son, Philip. After Mr. Heege died, Ms. Whitney’s parents reunited in Japan and married there. Phyllis was their only child.
Her parents’ story was the inspiration for one of Ms. Whitney’s plots, about a love affair gone awry.
(more)
Her first book in the adult suspense genre was “Red Is for Murder,” published in 1943 by Ziff-Davis with a picture of a blood splatter on the cover. It tells the story of Linell Wynn, who writes sign copy for a department store and whose life has been uneventful “until the day that murder walks the floors at dusk,” according to the book jacket.
(more)
Ms. Whitney ascribed her success as a writer to persistence and an abiding faith in her abilities. “Never mind the rejections, the discouragement, the voices of ridicule (there can be those too),” she wrote in “Guide to Fiction Writing.” “Work and wait and learn, and that train will come by. If you give up, you’ll never have a chance to climb aboard.”
Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company
Privacy Policy
February 9, 2008
Phyllis A. Whitney, Author, Dies at 104
By DULCIE LEIMBACH
Phyllis A. Whitney, a prolific best-selling author of romantic mysteries, young-adult novels and children’s mysteries for more than a half-century, died on Friday in Faber, Va. She was 104 and lived in Faber.
Her death was confirmed by her daughter, Georgia Pearson, who said the cause was pneumonia.
Ms. Whitney, who once said she stayed young by writing, continued to publish books until she was 94. Her last was “Amethyst Dreams” (1997), about a young woman who stands to inherit a fortune but who has disappeared from a family seaside villa. Only her best friend can help find her.
Her first book, in 1941, was “A Place for Ann,” a young-adult novel about girls who create a personal service organization doing jobs like dog walking.
In all, Ms. Whitney produced 39 adult suspense novels, some with a Gothic twist (with titles like “Woman Without a Past” and “The Glass Flame”); 14 novels for young adults (“A Window for Julie,” “Nobody Likes Trina”); 20 children’s mysteries (“Mystery of the Scowling Boy,” “Secret of the Missing Footprint”); several books about writing; and many short stories for magazines.
(more)
HIn 1988 Ms. Whitney received the prestigious Grand Master Award for lifetime achievement from the Mystery Writers of America.
“I always told myself that when I get old I’ll reread all my books, but I never seem to get old,” Ms. Whitney said in an interview with The Times when she was 79.
She said that one of her writing tricks was to set her books in places she had visited. She called her vacations book-hunting expeditions.
(more)
Ms. Whitney’s travels began early. She was born Phyllis Ayame Whitney on Sept. 9, 1903, to Charles J. Whitney and the former Mary Lillian Mandeville in Yokohama, Japan. (Ayame means “iris” in Japanese.) Her father was in the shipping and hotel business.
Her parents had met in the United States and become sweethearts but initially broke up. Afterward, Ms. Whitney’s mother married another man, Gus Heege, an actor, and they had a son, Philip. After Mr. Heege died, Ms. Whitney’s parents reunited in Japan and married there. Phyllis was their only child.
Her parents’ story was the inspiration for one of Ms. Whitney’s plots, about a love affair gone awry.
(more)
Her first book in the adult suspense genre was “Red Is for Murder,” published in 1943 by Ziff-Davis with a picture of a blood splatter on the cover. It tells the story of Linell Wynn, who writes sign copy for a department store and whose life has been uneventful “until the day that murder walks the floors at dusk,” according to the book jacket.
(more)
Ms. Whitney ascribed her success as a writer to persistence and an abiding faith in her abilities. “Never mind the rejections, the discouragement, the voices of ridicule (there can be those too),” she wrote in “Guide to Fiction Writing.” “Work and wait and learn, and that train will come by. If you give up, you’ll never have a chance to climb aboard.”
Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company
Privacy Policy
Friday, February 08, 2008
The Captain Must Die
I've seen a few recent references to one of the great overlooked Gold Medal novels, The Captain Must Die by Robert Colby. If you want a feel for the real Fifties in the form of a grim caper novel, this is your book. It's tight, deftly plotted and one of those hardboiled novels that is genuinely tough without showing off.
Bob Colby was a nice guy who struggled through a four decade run as a free-lancer. He never had the hit he deserved. I wouldn't say he was major but his books usually had a nice sweaty noir desperation to them. His people were often more interesting than the stories they were involved in. He had a bittersweet sense of the failed man in a society that despises failure, the man always looking for the long chance who never seems to understand--or even anticipate--that the long chance will destroy him.
I got to know him in the last six or seven years of his life. He'd spent his early life in radio and tv and you could tell that by the smooth, almost courtly way he did business. They were gentlemen back then. His glory days were with Richard Carroll at Gold Medal. Apparently Knox Burger didn't like his stuff and he was soon shuffled off to places like Monarch.
He's worth looking up. If you read nothing else, make it The Captain. It's damned fine book.
Bob Colby was a nice guy who struggled through a four decade run as a free-lancer. He never had the hit he deserved. I wouldn't say he was major but his books usually had a nice sweaty noir desperation to them. His people were often more interesting than the stories they were involved in. He had a bittersweet sense of the failed man in a society that despises failure, the man always looking for the long chance who never seems to understand--or even anticipate--that the long chance will destroy him.
I got to know him in the last six or seven years of his life. He'd spent his early life in radio and tv and you could tell that by the smooth, almost courtly way he did business. They were gentlemen back then. His glory days were with Richard Carroll at Gold Medal. Apparently Knox Burger didn't like his stuff and he was soon shuffled off to places like Monarch.
He's worth looking up. If you read nothing else, make it The Captain. It's damned fine book.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Libeled Lady
My screwball comedy mania continues...
You couldn't call Libeled Lady a masterpiece but it has so many fine moments that it's well worth watching. TCM ran it this afternoon. I've seen it twice in a year and the second time was even better.
With a cast that includes Myrna Loy, Jean Harlow, William Powell and a very young Spencer Tracy, Lady is one of those knockabout farces that keeps you watching by the sheer force of its audacious plotting.
Loy is a chilly heiress who feels that she's been libeled by Tracy's newspaper. If she wins the suit, Tracy and his paper fold. Harlow is Tracy's long suffering fiance. Tracy plans to force Loy to call off her suit by catching her in a scandalous moment of her own. He hires Powell to befriend her, trick her into a compromising position and then she'll be forced to call her off her legal action.
Here's the kicker. Tracy's plan requires bachelor Powell to have a wife. It's this wife who'll break in on Powell and Loy when they're embracing. Harlow will wail and carry on and threaten to go to the newspaper. Loy will back off. But who'll marry Powell in a sham marriage? Why, Harlow of course--and at fiance Tracy's urging.
My favorite exchange comes late in the first act when Powell, having recently met Loy, asks her to dance. He says several things to her that he assumes will impress her. But they don't.
He: "I thought I was being rather clever."
She: "I thought you thought you were being rather clever."
Harlow's especially interesting here. I never quite got her as a sex goddess. For me she tried too hard. But in comedies she's naturally sexy and a part of it is her simple put-upon sweetness. Really a nice job here.
You can get this on DVD for sixteen bucks if you're so inclined.
You couldn't call Libeled Lady a masterpiece but it has so many fine moments that it's well worth watching. TCM ran it this afternoon. I've seen it twice in a year and the second time was even better.
With a cast that includes Myrna Loy, Jean Harlow, William Powell and a very young Spencer Tracy, Lady is one of those knockabout farces that keeps you watching by the sheer force of its audacious plotting.
Loy is a chilly heiress who feels that she's been libeled by Tracy's newspaper. If she wins the suit, Tracy and his paper fold. Harlow is Tracy's long suffering fiance. Tracy plans to force Loy to call off her suit by catching her in a scandalous moment of her own. He hires Powell to befriend her, trick her into a compromising position and then she'll be forced to call her off her legal action.
Here's the kicker. Tracy's plan requires bachelor Powell to have a wife. It's this wife who'll break in on Powell and Loy when they're embracing. Harlow will wail and carry on and threaten to go to the newspaper. Loy will back off. But who'll marry Powell in a sham marriage? Why, Harlow of course--and at fiance Tracy's urging.
My favorite exchange comes late in the first act when Powell, having recently met Loy, asks her to dance. He says several things to her that he assumes will impress her. But they don't.
He: "I thought I was being rather clever."
She: "I thought you thought you were being rather clever."
Harlow's especially interesting here. I never quite got her as a sex goddess. For me she tried too hard. But in comedies she's naturally sexy and a part of it is her simple put-upon sweetness. Really a nice job here.
You can get this on DVD for sixteen bucks if you're so inclined.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
That old old argument
Galleycat today summarizes a story that will probably provide blog fodder for at least a week.
Tuesday Feb 05, 2008
The Ol' Genre vs. Literatute Debate, Again
Sunday's NY Times "Week in Review" featured a short essay by Charles McGrath that takes inspiration from the recent case of Joan Brady, an author who recently made headlines in England for an out-of-court settlement from a shoe factory near her home for physical damages and what the press initially categorized as, in McGrath's summation, "a loss of concentration that caused her to abandon the literary novel she was working on... and instead crank out a potboiler."
"What's behind the Brady controversy," McGrath writes, "is the assumption that genre fiction—mysteries, thrillers, romances, horror stories—is a form of literary slumming."
Ed here: for eighteen years I edited Mystery Scene and for too many years I refeered dust-ups over which was "better" hardboiled or cozy. I finally got tired of running them and concluded, with my usual brilliance, that we read what gives us pleasure. That pleasure can be emotional, intellectual. philosphical, sexual but fiction has to enrich us in some ways. Yes, most cozies are false representations of reality. So are most novels of the tougher strain. And as for genre being literature...mostly I don't give a rat's ass if it's literature or not. The argument yea or nay gets tedious, usually ending with somebody offering sweeping praise for books that are probably fine genre novels but not my idea of real literature.
NOTICE: I need a webmaster. Somebody who dosn't charge too much, somebody reliable.(This is optional of course-- somebody who can make me tall, handsome brilliant, wealthy and cure my cancer while he/she is at it.) Let me know if you know somebody Thanks, Ed
Tuesday Feb 05, 2008
The Ol' Genre vs. Literatute Debate, Again
Sunday's NY Times "Week in Review" featured a short essay by Charles McGrath that takes inspiration from the recent case of Joan Brady, an author who recently made headlines in England for an out-of-court settlement from a shoe factory near her home for physical damages and what the press initially categorized as, in McGrath's summation, "a loss of concentration that caused her to abandon the literary novel she was working on... and instead crank out a potboiler."
"What's behind the Brady controversy," McGrath writes, "is the assumption that genre fiction—mysteries, thrillers, romances, horror stories—is a form of literary slumming."
Ed here: for eighteen years I edited Mystery Scene and for too many years I refeered dust-ups over which was "better" hardboiled or cozy. I finally got tired of running them and concluded, with my usual brilliance, that we read what gives us pleasure. That pleasure can be emotional, intellectual. philosphical, sexual but fiction has to enrich us in some ways. Yes, most cozies are false representations of reality. So are most novels of the tougher strain. And as for genre being literature...mostly I don't give a rat's ass if it's literature or not. The argument yea or nay gets tedious, usually ending with somebody offering sweeping praise for books that are probably fine genre novels but not my idea of real literature.
NOTICE: I need a webmaster. Somebody who dosn't charge too much, somebody reliable.(This is optional of course-- somebody who can make me tall, handsome brilliant, wealthy and cure my cancer while he/she is at it.) Let me know if you know somebody Thanks, Ed
Monday, February 04, 2008
From the Western Writers of America
January 3, 2008
James Reasoner
From the Western Writers of America:
Longtime Western writer and WWA member James Reasoner and wife Livia lost their house and studio, and all their belongings, in a fire earlier this week. They're OK, as are their dogs and children, but got out with only their clothes they were wearing. Books, pulps, comics, everything else, gone.
"This is totallyoverwhelming," James says. To help the family, Western Writers of America and Kensington Books have agreed to make sizable contributions and ask anyone who would also like to contribute to send cash donations to the WWA Executive Director's office in Albuquerque, N.M.
Make the check out to Western Writers of America and put in the memo that the money is for the James Reasoner Emergency Fund. Checks should be mailed to:
WWA
MSC06 3770
1 University of New Mexico
Albuquerque, NM 87131-0001
Since James and Livia also lost their sizable library, donations are also being sought to help restock their bookcases whenever they have a new home. Kim Lionetti, Livia's agent at BookEnds, has generously agreed to accept any BOOK donations and keep them until the Reasoners have a place to put them. Books should be sent to:
Kim Lionetti
BookEnds Inc.
136 Long Hill Road
Gillette, NJ 07933
Our thoughts and prayers are with James, Livia and family during this tryingtime. Thanks for your help.
Johnny D. Boggs
WWA Vice President
James Reasoner
From the Western Writers of America:
Longtime Western writer and WWA member James Reasoner and wife Livia lost their house and studio, and all their belongings, in a fire earlier this week. They're OK, as are their dogs and children, but got out with only their clothes they were wearing. Books, pulps, comics, everything else, gone.
"This is totallyoverwhelming," James says. To help the family, Western Writers of America and Kensington Books have agreed to make sizable contributions and ask anyone who would also like to contribute to send cash donations to the WWA Executive Director's office in Albuquerque, N.M.
Make the check out to Western Writers of America and put in the memo that the money is for the James Reasoner Emergency Fund. Checks should be mailed to:
WWA
MSC06 3770
1 University of New Mexico
Albuquerque, NM 87131-0001
Since James and Livia also lost their sizable library, donations are also being sought to help restock their bookcases whenever they have a new home. Kim Lionetti, Livia's agent at BookEnds, has generously agreed to accept any BOOK donations and keep them until the Reasoners have a place to put them. Books should be sent to:
Kim Lionetti
BookEnds Inc.
136 Long Hill Road
Gillette, NJ 07933
Our thoughts and prayers are with James, Livia and family during this tryingtime. Thanks for your help.
Johnny D. Boggs
WWA Vice President
John Farris
One of the great thrills of my teen years was reading Harrison High written by a guy who was barely out of his teens himself. Mr. John Farris. Loved the damned thing. It was wisely observed, well written and as real and important in its way as Peyton Place a few years earlier (high praise from me). My admiration for Farris has never lapsed. He's written so many good books it's difficult to believe he's not as popular as some of the cheeseheads grabbing the headlines today. He's a fine craftsman and a true artist.
I mention Farris because tonight the Mystery-File blog's Steve Lewis takes a long and incisive look at numerous Farris novels:
"It has just occurred to me that John Farris has one of the longest careers of any mystery writer still active. His first novel, The Corpse Next Door, was published by Graphic Books, a small but solid line of mostly paperback originals, in 1956. Farris was born in 1936, so if the book wasn’t published until he was 20, the odds are the most of it was written when he was still nineteen.
"He switched to the pen name of Steve Brackeen for his next few books, typical Gold Medal thrillers, except that Gold Medal didn’t do them. One of them, Baby Moll (Crest, 1958), will be reprinted by Hard Case Crime later this year under his own name, a mere 50 years later.
" Farris eventually became the author of the “Harrison High” books, which sold in the millions, and he became an even bigger seller once he started writing horror fiction that was invariably tinged with the supernatural. Books like The Fury (1976) and All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes (1977) are as close to classics in the field as you’re going to get, and yet … even though Farris has averaged close to a book a year since those two books, unlike Stephen King, Dean R. Koontz and mystery-wise, Ed McBain, who came along about the same time he did, it is as if no one’s ever heard of him. Nobody knows his name."
for the full piece go here http://mysteryfile.com/blog/
Steve also recommends an equally fine piece on Farris by Bill Crider which you can link to from Steve's piece.
"Harrison High wasn’t a Gold Medal novel, but it was a huge influence on me. I read it in 1959 in a Dell paperback edition, and I was consumed with unseemly envy. I wanted to be John Farris. I mean, here was a guy not much older than I was, and he was already a wildly successful writer. But I didn’t know the half of it. Here’s the some more of the story: Farris sold his first novel the summer he graduated from high school, and it was published the next year. It’s a mystery called The Corpse Next Door, and it was a paperback original from Graphic Books. It’s not bad at all. Just don’t look at the cover when you read it, because the cover gives away the killer.
"Farris must have been all of nineteen or twenty when he wrote Baby Moll. I don’t think anybody would have known that by reading the book. There’s a maturity here way beyond Farris’ years. The kid could write: “The Neptune Court occupied two blocks of beach land on a narrow peninsula known as Fontaine Beach. It was a mushrooming resort center. Ornate motels and hotels done in bold lines sprawled along the strip of highway in a growing chain. Every day bulldozers scraped at the raw land while sun-reddened men with fat stacks of blueprints watched and planned. The street crumbled away under the impact of the ready-mix trucks.” Remind you of any other Gold Medal writers you know? I think John D. MacDonald and Mickey Spillane were two big influences on “Steve Brackeen.” "
I mention Farris because tonight the Mystery-File blog's Steve Lewis takes a long and incisive look at numerous Farris novels:
"It has just occurred to me that John Farris has one of the longest careers of any mystery writer still active. His first novel, The Corpse Next Door, was published by Graphic Books, a small but solid line of mostly paperback originals, in 1956. Farris was born in 1936, so if the book wasn’t published until he was 20, the odds are the most of it was written when he was still nineteen.
"He switched to the pen name of Steve Brackeen for his next few books, typical Gold Medal thrillers, except that Gold Medal didn’t do them. One of them, Baby Moll (Crest, 1958), will be reprinted by Hard Case Crime later this year under his own name, a mere 50 years later.
" Farris eventually became the author of the “Harrison High” books, which sold in the millions, and he became an even bigger seller once he started writing horror fiction that was invariably tinged with the supernatural. Books like The Fury (1976) and All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes (1977) are as close to classics in the field as you’re going to get, and yet … even though Farris has averaged close to a book a year since those two books, unlike Stephen King, Dean R. Koontz and mystery-wise, Ed McBain, who came along about the same time he did, it is as if no one’s ever heard of him. Nobody knows his name."
for the full piece go here http://mysteryfile.com/blog/
Steve also recommends an equally fine piece on Farris by Bill Crider which you can link to from Steve's piece.
"Harrison High wasn’t a Gold Medal novel, but it was a huge influence on me. I read it in 1959 in a Dell paperback edition, and I was consumed with unseemly envy. I wanted to be John Farris. I mean, here was a guy not much older than I was, and he was already a wildly successful writer. But I didn’t know the half of it. Here’s the some more of the story: Farris sold his first novel the summer he graduated from high school, and it was published the next year. It’s a mystery called The Corpse Next Door, and it was a paperback original from Graphic Books. It’s not bad at all. Just don’t look at the cover when you read it, because the cover gives away the killer.
"Farris must have been all of nineteen or twenty when he wrote Baby Moll. I don’t think anybody would have known that by reading the book. There’s a maturity here way beyond Farris’ years. The kid could write: “The Neptune Court occupied two blocks of beach land on a narrow peninsula known as Fontaine Beach. It was a mushrooming resort center. Ornate motels and hotels done in bold lines sprawled along the strip of highway in a growing chain. Every day bulldozers scraped at the raw land while sun-reddened men with fat stacks of blueprints watched and planned. The street crumbled away under the impact of the ready-mix trucks.” Remind you of any other Gold Medal writers you know? I think John D. MacDonald and Mickey Spillane were two big influences on “Steve Brackeen.” "
Sunday, February 03, 2008
She Likes to Watch
There's a reason Heather Havrilesky is one of my favorite media critics. She writes very tasty copy. Here's are excerpts from today. The column is much longer. Read it free on Salon.com
I Like to Watch
From Bravo's "Millionaire Matchmaker" to HBO's "Bernard and Doris" to NBC's "Lipstick Jungle," boss ladies reign supreme!
By Heather Havrilesky
Feb. 3, 2008 | Philosopher Immanuel Kant argued that free will formed the basis for morality. This was 200 years ago, back when human beings could be trusted to use their free will to enrich civilization. Sometimes they did this by exploiting or enslaving other human beings, but hey, at least they were industrious.
These days human beings are oversize toddlers who need to be spanked and sent to their rooms without any supper. In the absence of external punishments or rewards, most of us would lie about in our beds all day, soiling ourselves and crying for someone to bring us a cheeseburger. Isn't that what becomes of the very rich, who answer to no one and have the money to pay people to clip their nose hairs for them?
Today, we must be robbed of our free will if we're to accomplish anything at all! We need ruthless bosses who know just how to shame us into being a little less useless and repugnant. Whether they're our overbearing supervisors, our pushy wives, our disrespectful therapists, our opinionated mothers, our meddling spiritual gurus or our overconfident, domineering children, it doesn't really matter. Without them, we limply await our marching orders and become unbearably depressed when there's no one there to give us detailed, slightly demeaning instructions, or to hold our hands and confirm that we're just as worthless as we feel.
Personally, I've been looking to hire a Boss of Me for years now, but qualified applicants (pushy, intimidating professionals) aren't generally in the market for such a thankless unpaid position. Even knowing this, I hold out hope that one day I might be oppressed by a tyrannical overlord who never tires of saying things like, "What are you reading? Don't you have a column due in an hour? Close your browser and get to work, maggot!"
Make me a gold-digging sea donkey!
Others must share my longing for a personal oppressor. What else would explain the proliferation of Bossy Expert reality shows from "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style" to "Flipping Out" to "How to Look Good Naked" to "Make Me a Supermodel." TV teaches us that, with the right team of despotic consultants, we might shed our sorrowfully incompetent skins and join the über-human race.
(more)
...Take the imperious matriarch of "Millionaire Matchmaker," Patti Stanger, whose calling in life involves bringing together two subsets of society that would otherwise have trouble finding each other: men who want women who are hotter than hell, and women who want men who are richer than hell.
"Millionaire Matchmaker" (10 p.m. Tuesdays on Bravo) covers all of the basic requirements of the Bossy Expert reality-show formula: We start with a pushy, outspoken professional, throw in a team of helpful but oppressed underlings, add a few hapless rich guys and a gaggle of gold-digging sea donkeys, braying over the idea of landing a man with lots of cash in his pockets. To these basic ingredients, we add that crucial spice of all reality recipes, shamelessness. Patti doesn't need to be coaxed into playing the Colorful Egomaniac. She's more than happy to loudly demean her underlings and her clients for the sake of the cameras.
As Patti drives to one client's house in a particularly aggressive mood, she snappily informs the camera. "We're on our way to see Jeff, the millionaire rocker who's still living in the '70s. And he's not really rocking, he's a software guy, trying to live out his childhood fantasy that didn't really materialize into anything!" Um, the guy's got bad facial hair, wears cowboy boots and plays piano -- does that really make him a self-deluded asshole?
But don't tell that to Patti. Patti sees self-deluded assholes ... everywhere! "Millionaire men who were perpetually geeks in their youth, once they make a few bucks, they automatically think that gives them the card to get into the cool club. Sometimes they go over the top without an ounce of style or taste. It's my job to tell them that they don't look so cool," she explains. Sweet mother of Mary. What does give you a card to the cool club? Flat-ironed bangs and a TV show on Bravo?
(more)
We meet some of these mythical ladies at a party Patti holds for two clients during each episode. Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on these young women. Even the best of us sometimes think, "Why not replace the regular, reasonably nice guys I date with filthy-rich, reasonably nice guys, and then I can spend most of my time getting spa treatments, shopping for uncomfortable shoes, and jetting off to Italy to snack on cured meats instead of toiling away at a pointless job for the rest of my life?"
Ed:r Heather Havrilesky is always a blast.
I Like to Watch
From Bravo's "Millionaire Matchmaker" to HBO's "Bernard and Doris" to NBC's "Lipstick Jungle," boss ladies reign supreme!
By Heather Havrilesky
Feb. 3, 2008 | Philosopher Immanuel Kant argued that free will formed the basis for morality. This was 200 years ago, back when human beings could be trusted to use their free will to enrich civilization. Sometimes they did this by exploiting or enslaving other human beings, but hey, at least they were industrious.
These days human beings are oversize toddlers who need to be spanked and sent to their rooms without any supper. In the absence of external punishments or rewards, most of us would lie about in our beds all day, soiling ourselves and crying for someone to bring us a cheeseburger. Isn't that what becomes of the very rich, who answer to no one and have the money to pay people to clip their nose hairs for them?
Today, we must be robbed of our free will if we're to accomplish anything at all! We need ruthless bosses who know just how to shame us into being a little less useless and repugnant. Whether they're our overbearing supervisors, our pushy wives, our disrespectful therapists, our opinionated mothers, our meddling spiritual gurus or our overconfident, domineering children, it doesn't really matter. Without them, we limply await our marching orders and become unbearably depressed when there's no one there to give us detailed, slightly demeaning instructions, or to hold our hands and confirm that we're just as worthless as we feel.
Personally, I've been looking to hire a Boss of Me for years now, but qualified applicants (pushy, intimidating professionals) aren't generally in the market for such a thankless unpaid position. Even knowing this, I hold out hope that one day I might be oppressed by a tyrannical overlord who never tires of saying things like, "What are you reading? Don't you have a column due in an hour? Close your browser and get to work, maggot!"
Make me a gold-digging sea donkey!
Others must share my longing for a personal oppressor. What else would explain the proliferation of Bossy Expert reality shows from "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style" to "Flipping Out" to "How to Look Good Naked" to "Make Me a Supermodel." TV teaches us that, with the right team of despotic consultants, we might shed our sorrowfully incompetent skins and join the über-human race.
(more)
...Take the imperious matriarch of "Millionaire Matchmaker," Patti Stanger, whose calling in life involves bringing together two subsets of society that would otherwise have trouble finding each other: men who want women who are hotter than hell, and women who want men who are richer than hell.
"Millionaire Matchmaker" (10 p.m. Tuesdays on Bravo) covers all of the basic requirements of the Bossy Expert reality-show formula: We start with a pushy, outspoken professional, throw in a team of helpful but oppressed underlings, add a few hapless rich guys and a gaggle of gold-digging sea donkeys, braying over the idea of landing a man with lots of cash in his pockets. To these basic ingredients, we add that crucial spice of all reality recipes, shamelessness. Patti doesn't need to be coaxed into playing the Colorful Egomaniac. She's more than happy to loudly demean her underlings and her clients for the sake of the cameras.
As Patti drives to one client's house in a particularly aggressive mood, she snappily informs the camera. "We're on our way to see Jeff, the millionaire rocker who's still living in the '70s. And he's not really rocking, he's a software guy, trying to live out his childhood fantasy that didn't really materialize into anything!" Um, the guy's got bad facial hair, wears cowboy boots and plays piano -- does that really make him a self-deluded asshole?
But don't tell that to Patti. Patti sees self-deluded assholes ... everywhere! "Millionaire men who were perpetually geeks in their youth, once they make a few bucks, they automatically think that gives them the card to get into the cool club. Sometimes they go over the top without an ounce of style or taste. It's my job to tell them that they don't look so cool," she explains. Sweet mother of Mary. What does give you a card to the cool club? Flat-ironed bangs and a TV show on Bravo?
(more)
We meet some of these mythical ladies at a party Patti holds for two clients during each episode. Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on these young women. Even the best of us sometimes think, "Why not replace the regular, reasonably nice guys I date with filthy-rich, reasonably nice guys, and then I can spend most of my time getting spa treatments, shopping for uncomfortable shoes, and jetting off to Italy to snack on cured meats instead of toiling away at a pointless job for the rest of my life?"
Ed:r Heather Havrilesky is always a blast.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Deadlier Than The Male
Of Deadlier Than the Male by James Gunn*, the novel that became the basis for the Robert Wise film Born To Kill, the French Director Claude Chabrol said: "It has a freely developed plot and an absolutely extraordinary tone, pushing each scene towards a violent, ironic and macabre paroxysm...an unexpected dimension, a poetic depth..."
I'd put it more simply: If there is a hell, these are the people you'll find in its deepest part.
The story concerns a psychopath (in the movie well played by Lawrence Tierney) and a beautiful brittle gold digger (played with equal skill by Claire Trevor) and how they come first as partners of a sort and then as enemies. It is Swiftian in its contempt for humanity. The ugliness of Jim Thompson (whose favorite writer happened to be Johnathan Swift) was redeemed somewhat by the madness and occasional pathos of his people.
No madness or pathos here. These are the two most hard-boiled ruthless people I've ever encountered in crime fiction. Of necessity (censors) the film softens them slightly but only slightly.
In broadstroke themovie plot is generally like the movie plot. Here's IMBD:
In Reno a man kills a girl he likes and her boyfriend out of jealousy; it may not be the first time. A woman whose divorce has just come through finds the bodies but decides not to become involved. The two meet next day on the train to San Francisco unaware of this link between them. They are attracted to each other, and the relationship survives his marriage to her half-sister for money and status. It even survives the woman discovering that he was the murderer, though she may not realise how easily someone who has killed this way before can do so again. Written by Jeremy Perkins {jwp@aber.ac.uk}
Ed here: The cast of characters, with very few exceptions, fit exactly Chabrol's description: "violent, ironic and macabre." The attitude of the book, which which Chabrol also notes, reels between black comedy and surrealism drenched in a misanthropy that is occasionally stunning. The two old floozies we meet in the early boarding house scenes are worthy of Thompson at his best.
Deadlier Than The Male is one of those odd litle books that is both unique and successful on its own terms. This should definitely be back in print.
*not the science fiction writer
I'd put it more simply: If there is a hell, these are the people you'll find in its deepest part.
The story concerns a psychopath (in the movie well played by Lawrence Tierney) and a beautiful brittle gold digger (played with equal skill by Claire Trevor) and how they come first as partners of a sort and then as enemies. It is Swiftian in its contempt for humanity. The ugliness of Jim Thompson (whose favorite writer happened to be Johnathan Swift) was redeemed somewhat by the madness and occasional pathos of his people.
No madness or pathos here. These are the two most hard-boiled ruthless people I've ever encountered in crime fiction. Of necessity (censors) the film softens them slightly but only slightly.
In broadstroke themovie plot is generally like the movie plot. Here's IMBD:
In Reno a man kills a girl he likes and her boyfriend out of jealousy; it may not be the first time. A woman whose divorce has just come through finds the bodies but decides not to become involved. The two meet next day on the train to San Francisco unaware of this link between them. They are attracted to each other, and the relationship survives his marriage to her half-sister for money and status. It even survives the woman discovering that he was the murderer, though she may not realise how easily someone who has killed this way before can do so again. Written by Jeremy Perkins {jwp@aber.ac.uk}
Ed here: The cast of characters, with very few exceptions, fit exactly Chabrol's description: "violent, ironic and macabre." The attitude of the book, which which Chabrol also notes, reels between black comedy and surrealism drenched in a misanthropy that is occasionally stunning. The two old floozies we meet in the early boarding house scenes are worthy of Thompson at his best.
Deadlier Than The Male is one of those odd litle books that is both unique and successful on its own terms. This should definitely be back in print.
*not the science fiction writer
Friday, February 01, 2008
Cinema Retro
Two exceptionally interesting pieces on Cinema Retro tonight:
Gayle Ann Hurd
"The stories are legion about how alumni from producer Roger Corman's low budget movies of the 1960s and 1970s helped launch many an actor and director to prominence. However, you can add a highly successful producer to the mix, as well. Gale Anne Hurd, producer of such blockbuster hits as The Terminator, Armageddon and Aliens, got her first break in show business learning the ropes on Corman's 1980 low budget sci fi "epic" Battle Beyond the Stars, a loose remake of The Magnificent Seven that starred an alumnus of that film, Robert Vaughn. It was on this movie that Hurd met her future partner and husband-to-be, James Cameron, who created the miniature spaceships for the film. In a revealing interview with The Desert Sun's website, Hurd recalls how she grew up amidst show business royalty and how she befriended Red Skelton as a child. She also talks about her ugly realization of the impact of anti-Semitism and how the prejudices she suffered only inspired her to become more successful. To read click here http://www.cinemaretro.com/index.php
Plus a long interview with Robert Osborne of Turner Classic Movies. If you haven't added the site to your link list, go forth and do it.'---
And for those of you old enough to remember Eddie Cochran, 2 Blowhards is sporting a You Tube video of him playing live in 1959 at (obviously) local Tv station. Great stuff. http://www.2blowhards.com/
Gayle Ann Hurd
"The stories are legion about how alumni from producer Roger Corman's low budget movies of the 1960s and 1970s helped launch many an actor and director to prominence. However, you can add a highly successful producer to the mix, as well. Gale Anne Hurd, producer of such blockbuster hits as The Terminator, Armageddon and Aliens, got her first break in show business learning the ropes on Corman's 1980 low budget sci fi "epic" Battle Beyond the Stars, a loose remake of The Magnificent Seven that starred an alumnus of that film, Robert Vaughn. It was on this movie that Hurd met her future partner and husband-to-be, James Cameron, who created the miniature spaceships for the film. In a revealing interview with The Desert Sun's website, Hurd recalls how she grew up amidst show business royalty and how she befriended Red Skelton as a child. She also talks about her ugly realization of the impact of anti-Semitism and how the prejudices she suffered only inspired her to become more successful. To read click here http://www.cinemaretro.com/index.php
Plus a long interview with Robert Osborne of Turner Classic Movies. If you haven't added the site to your link list, go forth and do it.'---
And for those of you old enough to remember Eddie Cochran, 2 Blowhards is sporting a You Tube video of him playing live in 1959 at (obviously) local Tv station. Great stuff. http://www.2blowhards.com/
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Stories from other stories
I've always been intrigued by how one writer reads a piece by another writer and does a riff on it that ends up entirely his own. Well, almost entirely.
I've been reading one Alain Silver's fine books of interviews, this one dealing with Hwood directors, writers and cinematographers involved in noir films.
In the course of talking with Billy Wilder, Wilder mentions how he got the germ of the idea for The Apartment from a Noel Coward play. In Coward the hero is the man who uses the apartment of his friend for his tryst. But Wilder says he was more interested in the friend who let him use it. What was his story? Thus, the great film The Apartment was born.
Likewise, performances feed one into the other as well. This afternoon TCM showed the 1938 screwball comedy Boy Meets Girl. If you want to know where Cagney-Wilder got the Cagney performance for One, Two, Three (1961) it came from here. Slicked up, timed better, with much better writing in the later version but the hellzapoppin frantic punch line-punchline-punchilne rythm of One is certainly here to see.
Boy Meets Girl is sloppy, hasty and nonsensical (there are moments when you think you're watching Marx Brothers outtakes) but it sure ain't boring. And the always long-suffering Ralph Bellamy as the studio VP is another portrait of a dumb guy way out of his element. But here he's not the innocent he usually plays.
Fir the record here's the storyyline from TCM bloggers:
Two lazy screenwriters need a story for the studio's cowboy star. A studio waitress turns out to be pregnant. This gives them the idea for a movie about a cowboy and a baby. The waitress's baby becomes the star. The cowboy and his agent run off with the waitress and her valuable asset. The writers retaliate by hiring an unemployed extra to impersonate the baby's father. But the extra already knows the waitress... Written by David Steele
A Hollywood film studio in receivership and courted by a British outfit has all the signs of being run as a madhouse by Elliot Friday. To complete the image, screenwriters Law and Benson pretty well run rampant over the lot. When canteen-girl Susie is found to be pregnant they hatch the idea of making her expected a new star. Owner B.K. starts to realise this is no way to run a railroad. Written by Jeremy Perkins {jwp@aber.ac.uk}
I've been reading one Alain Silver's fine books of interviews, this one dealing with Hwood directors, writers and cinematographers involved in noir films.
In the course of talking with Billy Wilder, Wilder mentions how he got the germ of the idea for The Apartment from a Noel Coward play. In Coward the hero is the man who uses the apartment of his friend for his tryst. But Wilder says he was more interested in the friend who let him use it. What was his story? Thus, the great film The Apartment was born.
Likewise, performances feed one into the other as well. This afternoon TCM showed the 1938 screwball comedy Boy Meets Girl. If you want to know where Cagney-Wilder got the Cagney performance for One, Two, Three (1961) it came from here. Slicked up, timed better, with much better writing in the later version but the hellzapoppin frantic punch line-punchline-punchilne rythm of One is certainly here to see.
Boy Meets Girl is sloppy, hasty and nonsensical (there are moments when you think you're watching Marx Brothers outtakes) but it sure ain't boring. And the always long-suffering Ralph Bellamy as the studio VP is another portrait of a dumb guy way out of his element. But here he's not the innocent he usually plays.
Fir the record here's the storyyline from TCM bloggers:
Two lazy screenwriters need a story for the studio's cowboy star. A studio waitress turns out to be pregnant. This gives them the idea for a movie about a cowboy and a baby. The waitress's baby becomes the star. The cowboy and his agent run off with the waitress and her valuable asset. The writers retaliate by hiring an unemployed extra to impersonate the baby's father. But the extra already knows the waitress... Written by David Steele
A Hollywood film studio in receivership and courted by a British outfit has all the signs of being run as a madhouse by Elliot Friday. To complete the image, screenwriters Law and Benson pretty well run rampant over the lot. When canteen-girl Susie is found to be pregnant they hatch the idea of making her expected a new star. Owner B.K. starts to realise this is no way to run a railroad. Written by Jeremy Perkins {jwp@aber.ac.uk}
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Amos Burke
From the bloggers signing themselves The Clones on IMDB:
"TV actors, at least in the old days when they were placed in a separate class from movie actors, often seemed to be clones of their movie brethren.... There were a whole selection of Clark Gables, including John Russell, Rory Calhoun, Richard Egan , Robert Lowery and others. There were plenty of Brandos, including Burt Reynolds, George Maharis and John Saxon. There were enough Rock Hudsons to fill a theater, with John Gavin, Tom Tryon and Gardner McKay coming immediately to mind.
(more)
"Perhaps the most successful strain, however were the Cary Grants. Grant made an ideal model for the suave detective hero, able to be charming or tough as the occasion demanded. Craig Stevens was hired to play Peter Gunn specifically because of a strong resemblance to Grant. His tightlipped performance was not really very charming but it's surely how Cary would have played that character. Latern-jawed John Vivyan played a role that Grant had actually essayed in the movies, Mr. Lucky. He was competent at best. The heroes of the Warner Brother's detective shows were largely based on Cary Grant. Ephram Zimbelist Jr.'s Stu Bailey was a grant-style role with a lot more charm than Peter Gunn. Richard Long's Rex Randolph on Bourbon Street Beat was much the same. Anthony Eisley's Tracy Steele was a less convincing version of the same character on Hawaiian Eye.
"But the best of the Grant clones was Gene Barry. He was male-model handsome, had good breeding and seductive whiskey voice. He was also TV's greatest reactors. He had a series of comic takes that was perfect for Amos Burke, who had to confront an unending series of eccentric subjects. Yet he could turn around and romance the ladies or get tough with the tough guys. And he was a good enough actor to hold up his end when the heavy dramatics intervened."
Ed here: I watched two episodes of Burke's Law on American Family Network over the weekend and it brought back memories of all those wonderfully silly days when Warner Brothers Television ruled the black and white world. (Though Burke wasn't Warners.)
And you couldn't get any sillier than Burke's Law. A slick dude who shows up to the crime scene in a Rolls-Royce? With an assistant hunk who's a brainiac? And a rumpled old-style cop who makes Fred Thompson look lively?
The gimmick was that all the suspects were played by actors on the way up or on the way down. And the parts offered the players enough comic scenery to chew on for months after the wrap. My favorite this weekend was Wally Cox who was or wasn't a vampire and who was driven everywhere in a hearse. But Frankie Avallone was surrpisingly good as a method sports reporter--he didn;t just report on horses; he BECAME the horses. There was a beatnik-type in both episodes and you could write the dialogue at home. Hey, Daddy, lemme play them bongos. Jack Kerouac by way of Maynard G. Krebs.
Every episode ends with babe of the moment either pouring Amos champagne or beckoning him hither. For the sake of the censors hither usually seemed to mean getting another crime call and schlepping to the scene in his chauffeur driven Rolls.
If I'm not mistaken that's how the Chief of Police in Cedar Rapids gets around.
"TV actors, at least in the old days when they were placed in a separate class from movie actors, often seemed to be clones of their movie brethren.... There were a whole selection of Clark Gables, including John Russell, Rory Calhoun, Richard Egan , Robert Lowery and others. There were plenty of Brandos, including Burt Reynolds, George Maharis and John Saxon. There were enough Rock Hudsons to fill a theater, with John Gavin, Tom Tryon and Gardner McKay coming immediately to mind.
(more)
"Perhaps the most successful strain, however were the Cary Grants. Grant made an ideal model for the suave detective hero, able to be charming or tough as the occasion demanded. Craig Stevens was hired to play Peter Gunn specifically because of a strong resemblance to Grant. His tightlipped performance was not really very charming but it's surely how Cary would have played that character. Latern-jawed John Vivyan played a role that Grant had actually essayed in the movies, Mr. Lucky. He was competent at best. The heroes of the Warner Brother's detective shows were largely based on Cary Grant. Ephram Zimbelist Jr.'s Stu Bailey was a grant-style role with a lot more charm than Peter Gunn. Richard Long's Rex Randolph on Bourbon Street Beat was much the same. Anthony Eisley's Tracy Steele was a less convincing version of the same character on Hawaiian Eye.
"But the best of the Grant clones was Gene Barry. He was male-model handsome, had good breeding and seductive whiskey voice. He was also TV's greatest reactors. He had a series of comic takes that was perfect for Amos Burke, who had to confront an unending series of eccentric subjects. Yet he could turn around and romance the ladies or get tough with the tough guys. And he was a good enough actor to hold up his end when the heavy dramatics intervened."
Ed here: I watched two episodes of Burke's Law on American Family Network over the weekend and it brought back memories of all those wonderfully silly days when Warner Brothers Television ruled the black and white world. (Though Burke wasn't Warners.)
And you couldn't get any sillier than Burke's Law. A slick dude who shows up to the crime scene in a Rolls-Royce? With an assistant hunk who's a brainiac? And a rumpled old-style cop who makes Fred Thompson look lively?
The gimmick was that all the suspects were played by actors on the way up or on the way down. And the parts offered the players enough comic scenery to chew on for months after the wrap. My favorite this weekend was Wally Cox who was or wasn't a vampire and who was driven everywhere in a hearse. But Frankie Avallone was surrpisingly good as a method sports reporter--he didn;t just report on horses; he BECAME the horses. There was a beatnik-type in both episodes and you could write the dialogue at home. Hey, Daddy, lemme play them bongos. Jack Kerouac by way of Maynard G. Krebs.
Every episode ends with babe of the moment either pouring Amos champagne or beckoning him hither. For the sake of the censors hither usually seemed to mean getting another crime call and schlepping to the scene in his chauffeur driven Rolls.
If I'm not mistaken that's how the Chief of Police in Cedar Rapids gets around.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Nobody Dies In Hollywood
As I've noted grumpily many times, I'm not much for sequels or franchises. On and freaking on. Off hand the only sequel I can think of that was possibly good as the original was the second Invasion of The Body Snatchers. In that case Phil Kaufman was bright enough to use his film as a commentary on the decade it was being filmed in. Witty and wise as a social document. (Jeff Goldblum reading Velikovsky in the mud bath; Leonard Nimoy as the pop prince shrink inveighing everybody to be a sociopath like him.) And making it one of the finest suspense films of its time.
But as we all know, the world doesn't seem to give much of a damn about what Ed Gorman of Cedar Rapids, Ioway thinks about anything. It goes right on rubbing its greasy hand in Ed's face. (Enough of the third person; it's getting weird.)
To wit from Variety today:
New Line sets up new 'Nightmare'
Freddy Krueger returns to theaters
By MICHAEL FLEMING
Platinum Dunes partners Michael Bay, Brad Fuller and Andrew Form have been set by New Line to re-launch Freddy Krueger, the iconic psycho who haunts the subconscious dreams of teenagers and kills them in their sleep.
The trio will create a new franchise based on "A Nightmare Before Elm Street," the 1984 Wes Craven film.
Originally played by Robert Englund, Krueger haunted nine films and two TV series, and was New Line's most lucrative franchise until "The Lord of the Rings."
The deal comes as Bay, Fuller and Form ready for an April start for "Friday the 13th," a New Line re-launch of another iconic baddie, Jason Voorhees. "Cloverfield" star Odette Yustman has just been set to star, and Marcus Nispel will direct a script by Damian Shannon and Mark Swift ("Freddy Vs. Jason").
(more)
Platinum Dunes is busy. At Rogue Pictures, the producers are prepping an untitled David Goyer-directed exorcism thriller, and a "Near Dark" remake that will be directed by Samuel Bayer. Bay, Fuller and Form are also developing a Universal remake of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds," with Martin Campbell directing Naomi Watts.
Ed here:
Holy shit, Batman. They really DON'T care what I think, do they?
But as we all know, the world doesn't seem to give much of a damn about what Ed Gorman of Cedar Rapids, Ioway thinks about anything. It goes right on rubbing its greasy hand in Ed's face. (Enough of the third person; it's getting weird.)
To wit from Variety today:
New Line sets up new 'Nightmare'
Freddy Krueger returns to theaters
By MICHAEL FLEMING
Platinum Dunes partners Michael Bay, Brad Fuller and Andrew Form have been set by New Line to re-launch Freddy Krueger, the iconic psycho who haunts the subconscious dreams of teenagers and kills them in their sleep.
The trio will create a new franchise based on "A Nightmare Before Elm Street," the 1984 Wes Craven film.
Originally played by Robert Englund, Krueger haunted nine films and two TV series, and was New Line's most lucrative franchise until "The Lord of the Rings."
The deal comes as Bay, Fuller and Form ready for an April start for "Friday the 13th," a New Line re-launch of another iconic baddie, Jason Voorhees. "Cloverfield" star Odette Yustman has just been set to star, and Marcus Nispel will direct a script by Damian Shannon and Mark Swift ("Freddy Vs. Jason").
(more)
Platinum Dunes is busy. At Rogue Pictures, the producers are prepping an untitled David Goyer-directed exorcism thriller, and a "Near Dark" remake that will be directed by Samuel Bayer. Bay, Fuller and Form are also developing a Universal remake of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds," with Martin Campbell directing Naomi Watts.
Ed here:
Holy shit, Batman. They really DON'T care what I think, do they?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Ursula K. Le Guin
Ursula K. Le Guin quted on Galleycat today:
"Books are social vectors, but publishers have been slow to see it. They barely even noticed book clubs until Oprah goosed them. But then the stupidity of the contemporary, corporation-owned publishing company is fathomless: they think they can sell books as commodities."
CLIFTON ADAMS
August West over at Vintage Hardboiled Reads http://vinpulp.blogspot.com/ writes a fine review of of Death's Sweet Song, one of Clifton Adams' two Gold Medal crime novels. I sure agree with his admiration for Adams' crime books and, like August, wish he'd written more.
But many of you are saying Clifton who? Back in the days when western fiction was popular (and reasonably respectable to all but snobs) Adams wrote a novel called The Desperado, which Donald Westlake has spoken of admiringly (though not, understandably, of its poor sequel Return of The Desperado).
Adams was a jazz musician and a working writer. Never a star, he had to work all over the place and with varying degrees of creative success. He did a number of books that were competent but overly familiar but at least half of his considerable output was first-rate and two or three books were, in my estimation, were of the highest order.
Try A Partnership With Death and A Dangerous Profession. True hardboiled westerns.
"Books are social vectors, but publishers have been slow to see it. They barely even noticed book clubs until Oprah goosed them. But then the stupidity of the contemporary, corporation-owned publishing company is fathomless: they think they can sell books as commodities."
CLIFTON ADAMS
August West over at Vintage Hardboiled Reads http://vinpulp.blogspot.com/ writes a fine review of of Death's Sweet Song, one of Clifton Adams' two Gold Medal crime novels. I sure agree with his admiration for Adams' crime books and, like August, wish he'd written more.
But many of you are saying Clifton who? Back in the days when western fiction was popular (and reasonably respectable to all but snobs) Adams wrote a novel called The Desperado, which Donald Westlake has spoken of admiringly (though not, understandably, of its poor sequel Return of The Desperado).
Adams was a jazz musician and a working writer. Never a star, he had to work all over the place and with varying degrees of creative success. He did a number of books that were competent but overly familiar but at least half of his considerable output was first-rate and two or three books were, in my estimation, were of the highest order.
Try A Partnership With Death and A Dangerous Profession. True hardboiled westerns.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Five Strokes To Midnight
Five Strokes To Midnight is a handsomely made hardcover edited by Gary Braunbeck and Hank Schwaeble with an introduction by Tim Lebbon.
Handsomely made and handsomely written. Authors Tom Piccirilli, Deborah LeBlanc, Christopher Golden and both editors contribute fine pieces of horror, though not the category horror of too many anthologies. And since each writer has two or three stories included, the reader gets a range of forms and styles.
Highlights for me include Piccirilli's "Berveavement," one of his most powerful pieces; Braunbeck's "Afterward, There Will Be a Hallway," a cleverly conceived and perfectly executed story about the mercurial and confusing elements of relationships; LeBlanc's "Bottom Feeder" which is a great old-fashoned new-fashioned take on magic; Schawaeble's "Midnight Boogie Blues" is the barn-burner of the book, a tough tough tale; and Golden's extraordinary "Breathe My Name," a fusion of fabulism and folk tale.
This is a collectible and a keeper in all respects. www.hauntedpelicanpress.com will take you to the publisher's website
Handsomely made and handsomely written. Authors Tom Piccirilli, Deborah LeBlanc, Christopher Golden and both editors contribute fine pieces of horror, though not the category horror of too many anthologies. And since each writer has two or three stories included, the reader gets a range of forms and styles.
Highlights for me include Piccirilli's "Berveavement," one of his most powerful pieces; Braunbeck's "Afterward, There Will Be a Hallway," a cleverly conceived and perfectly executed story about the mercurial and confusing elements of relationships; LeBlanc's "Bottom Feeder" which is a great old-fashoned new-fashioned take on magic; Schawaeble's "Midnight Boogie Blues" is the barn-burner of the book, a tough tough tale; and Golden's extraordinary "Breathe My Name," a fusion of fabulism and folk tale.
This is a collectible and a keeper in all respects. www.hauntedpelicanpress.com will take you to the publisher's website
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Twilight by Brendan DuBois
As I've said here before, I think Brendan DuBois is one of the three or four best short story writers of my generation. He's also an exceptionally fine novelist. After I read his new novel Twlight I wrote to tell him how much I enjoyed it, admired it and honestly envied it. It's a powerful and intense but written with all of Brendan's supple and subtle skill. He wrote back and told me a story about its history that shows how strange the world of writing and publishing can sometimes be.
From Brendan
Back in late 1999 I had an idea for a novel that eventually became
TWILIGHT, published this past November by St. Martin’s Press. The
basis of the idea came after watching a television report of UN
peacekeepers and war crimes investigators at work in the former
Yugoslavia. And that’s how it happens, the “what if” that allows us
writers to grab an idea and work with it.
And the idea was something I loved: what kind of catastrophe could
happen in the United States that would result in the same UN forces
being dispatched here? How would ordinary Americans react in a time of
chaos to seeing the famed “blue helmets” in our streets, and not the
streets of Bosnia, Serbia or Rwanda? Would they see the UN as saviors
or occupiers?
From that idea came TWILIGHT. The book was a gamble in a number of
ways. The main character was a former Canadian journalist, it was the
only novel outside of my Lewis Cole series written in the first person,
and my outline consisted of just a few sentences. But it was a tale
that I wanted to tell.
The book was finished in early 2001. I sent it off to my agent,
confident that I had tried something different, confident that this
book would quickly sell, confident that it would make a mark.
Alas, my agent and his associate didn’t share the same confidence.
Long story short, they thought the book was a failure, and I put it
that legendary desk drawer where manuscripts go to die… or hibernate.
It was sobering, the first novel I had written that my agent had
disliked so entirely.
Flash forward a few years later, when I was struggling to complete
another thriller, FINAL WINTER. Ah, that book, with multiple
viewpoints and a complicated plot, hurt my mind to write. And to have
a bit of fun during the day, I took TWILIGHT out of the dusty drawer,
rewrote it a bit, updated it to reflect the turbulent times after 9/11,
and I sent it off to my new agent.
She loved it.
She suggested a couple of changes, which I embraced, and in the space
of a few months, it was sold to St. Martin’s Press, as well as
publishers in Great Britain, Italy and Spain, and there is still some
interest from other foreign publishers as well. Publisher’s Weekly
gave it a starred review, saying that, “The balance between action and
introspection is superb, and DuBois is confident enough of his
readership and his premise to avoid a pat, upbeat unending.” I’ve had a
host of other positive reviews, including one from the proprietor of
this blog.
The upshot, the lesson learned?
Damned if I know, except for two things: don’t ever give up, and
don’t ever think you know how publishing works. More than twenty years
after my first novel was published, it’s still a mystery to me.
_____________________________________________________
From Brendan
Back in late 1999 I had an idea for a novel that eventually became
TWILIGHT, published this past November by St. Martin’s Press. The
basis of the idea came after watching a television report of UN
peacekeepers and war crimes investigators at work in the former
Yugoslavia. And that’s how it happens, the “what if” that allows us
writers to grab an idea and work with it.
And the idea was something I loved: what kind of catastrophe could
happen in the United States that would result in the same UN forces
being dispatched here? How would ordinary Americans react in a time of
chaos to seeing the famed “blue helmets” in our streets, and not the
streets of Bosnia, Serbia or Rwanda? Would they see the UN as saviors
or occupiers?
From that idea came TWILIGHT. The book was a gamble in a number of
ways. The main character was a former Canadian journalist, it was the
only novel outside of my Lewis Cole series written in the first person,
and my outline consisted of just a few sentences. But it was a tale
that I wanted to tell.
The book was finished in early 2001. I sent it off to my agent,
confident that I had tried something different, confident that this
book would quickly sell, confident that it would make a mark.
Alas, my agent and his associate didn’t share the same confidence.
Long story short, they thought the book was a failure, and I put it
that legendary desk drawer where manuscripts go to die… or hibernate.
It was sobering, the first novel I had written that my agent had
disliked so entirely.
Flash forward a few years later, when I was struggling to complete
another thriller, FINAL WINTER. Ah, that book, with multiple
viewpoints and a complicated plot, hurt my mind to write. And to have
a bit of fun during the day, I took TWILIGHT out of the dusty drawer,
rewrote it a bit, updated it to reflect the turbulent times after 9/11,
and I sent it off to my new agent.
She loved it.
She suggested a couple of changes, which I embraced, and in the space
of a few months, it was sold to St. Martin’s Press, as well as
publishers in Great Britain, Italy and Spain, and there is still some
interest from other foreign publishers as well. Publisher’s Weekly
gave it a starred review, saying that, “The balance between action and
introspection is superb, and DuBois is confident enough of his
readership and his premise to avoid a pat, upbeat unending.” I’ve had a
host of other positive reviews, including one from the proprietor of
this blog.
The upshot, the lesson learned?
Damned if I know, except for two things: don’t ever give up, and
don’t ever think you know how publishing works. More than twenty years
after my first novel was published, it’s still a mystery to me.
_____________________________________________________
Friday, January 25, 2008
Edmond O'Brien
I watched DOA this snowy afternoon and reaffirmed my opinion that it's one of the great B pulp stories of all time.
"I'd like to report a murder."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
Hw can you miss with an opening like that? This is pure noir from first frame to last, an almost surreal experience of radioactive drugs (the scene with the doctor telling him that he's going to die is handled flawlessly), the almost documentary-like observation of San Francisco architecture, the quick vicious violence.
There's even a snarky bit of satire. The war has ended and prosperity has come to many. Salesmen abound. They fill the hotel where O'Brien first stays. As he goes into his room he sees there's a party going on in the room across from him. He accepts the invitation. Director Rudolph Mate gets everything right in this bit--the inane chatter, the sexual undertone, the sudden drunken jealousy, the goofy hats of the women and the effusive Chamber of Commerce attitude of the men.
From that point on it's grim without relief. As many critics have noted the black band in the jazz club scene was pushing the envelope. There was studio concern the film wouldn't be shown in the South (though I never quite understood that--the band did nothing but make some sweet music, they weren't hitting on white chicks). And then comes the succession of liars O'Brien encounters as he tries to figure out who poisoned him and why. He becomes a de facto hardboiled private eye and a better peeper than most. There's all that anger, all that fear.
I saw this new at Half Price for (I think) $3. Hard to go wrong.
As for O'Brien...several years ago TCM showed him as a very young man in a costume drama. He was thin and theatrcal. Studied. Weight and years gave him a more comfortable persona, the perpetually agigated average man who lost just about every battle with the dark gods. Though he would do more work after his part in The Wild Bunch, I think he was especially memorable as the crazed-wise old coot with rotted teeth and a wino laugh. Fitting and ironic in context that his character and Robert Ryan's were the only two left in the coda. Fine work capping a significant career.
"I'd like to report a murder."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
Hw can you miss with an opening like that? This is pure noir from first frame to last, an almost surreal experience of radioactive drugs (the scene with the doctor telling him that he's going to die is handled flawlessly), the almost documentary-like observation of San Francisco architecture, the quick vicious violence.
There's even a snarky bit of satire. The war has ended and prosperity has come to many. Salesmen abound. They fill the hotel where O'Brien first stays. As he goes into his room he sees there's a party going on in the room across from him. He accepts the invitation. Director Rudolph Mate gets everything right in this bit--the inane chatter, the sexual undertone, the sudden drunken jealousy, the goofy hats of the women and the effusive Chamber of Commerce attitude of the men.
From that point on it's grim without relief. As many critics have noted the black band in the jazz club scene was pushing the envelope. There was studio concern the film wouldn't be shown in the South (though I never quite understood that--the band did nothing but make some sweet music, they weren't hitting on white chicks). And then comes the succession of liars O'Brien encounters as he tries to figure out who poisoned him and why. He becomes a de facto hardboiled private eye and a better peeper than most. There's all that anger, all that fear.
I saw this new at Half Price for (I think) $3. Hard to go wrong.
As for O'Brien...several years ago TCM showed him as a very young man in a costume drama. He was thin and theatrcal. Studied. Weight and years gave him a more comfortable persona, the perpetually agigated average man who lost just about every battle with the dark gods. Though he would do more work after his part in The Wild Bunch, I think he was especially memorable as the crazed-wise old coot with rotted teeth and a wino laugh. Fitting and ironic in context that his character and Robert Ryan's were the only two left in the coda. Fine work capping a significant career.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Bad Day At Black Rock; Bob Randisi
Bad Day At Black Rock was on TCM this afternoon. One of my all-time favorite westerns. Bad Day demonstrates how durable the western form can be in the right hands. Make it contemporary, give it a serious theme but keep the pacing and excitement of the genre...and you've got one of the best scripted films I've ever seen.
I'd forgotten how often the film becomes a bit stage bound but to great effect. The lobby of the dingy hotel where Robert Ryan and his thugs gather to confront Spencer Tracy is a perfect setting for long speeches and character development. Two scenes in the third act are especially memorable. The fight in which one-armed Tracy dispatches Ernest Borgnine is staged better than anything in John Ford.
But for all the jabber this is pure movie. The desert, the ghost town-like whistle-stop, the dirt and grit of the actors and the hotel interior are a mosaic of desolation. Ryan, Lee Marvin, Ernest Borgnine and the others add their individual colors to the mosaic. Young Anne Francis is the desert flower, a stunner in looks and a fine strong actress.
This is one of the great ones.
------------------------
Bob Randisi has responded to my post on Amazon Top Ten reviewers
I can't post on your blog so I'm sending this here. Some years back I went back and forth with emails to Amazon, talking to them about their reviews. I whole heartedly disagree with their policy of reviewing books, especially when they slam them. This is NOT the way to sell books. I liken it to a grocery store putting canned peas out on their shelves, and then a sign telling people they're BAD peas and not to buy them. I tried to get some support from my fellow scribes, but no one wanted to take Amazon on. Others didn't agree with me. One well known author even accused me of advocating censorship. I gave up, but I do NOT buy books from Amazon, I buy them from other sites like Barnes & Noble and Buy.com.
And whenever I get a chance, I have my say, like now.
RJR
I'd forgotten how often the film becomes a bit stage bound but to great effect. The lobby of the dingy hotel where Robert Ryan and his thugs gather to confront Spencer Tracy is a perfect setting for long speeches and character development. Two scenes in the third act are especially memorable. The fight in which one-armed Tracy dispatches Ernest Borgnine is staged better than anything in John Ford.
But for all the jabber this is pure movie. The desert, the ghost town-like whistle-stop, the dirt and grit of the actors and the hotel interior are a mosaic of desolation. Ryan, Lee Marvin, Ernest Borgnine and the others add their individual colors to the mosaic. Young Anne Francis is the desert flower, a stunner in looks and a fine strong actress.
This is one of the great ones.
------------------------
Bob Randisi has responded to my post on Amazon Top Ten reviewers
I can't post on your blog so I'm sending this here. Some years back I went back and forth with emails to Amazon, talking to them about their reviews. I whole heartedly disagree with their policy of reviewing books, especially when they slam them. This is NOT the way to sell books. I liken it to a grocery store putting canned peas out on their shelves, and then a sign telling people they're BAD peas and not to buy them. I tried to get some support from my fellow scribes, but no one wanted to take Amazon on. Others didn't agree with me. One well known author even accused me of advocating censorship. I gave up, but I do NOT buy books from Amazon, I buy them from other sites like Barnes & Noble and Buy.com.
And whenever I get a chance, I have my say, like now.
RJR
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Good news from Richard Wheeler
Home
January 23, 2008
I’m back from an esophageal dilation, and when I get past the dope and Vicodin, I’ll post again. Meanwhile, buttoning my shirt is a complicated task.
January 23, 2008
I’m back from an esophageal dilation, and when I get past the dope and Vicodin, I’ll post again. Meanwhile, buttoning my shirt is a complicated task.
Amazon reviews
I have two or three friends who take Amazon reviews very seriously. By that I mean they get really pissed off when some dude or dudette trashes their books. I agree that this is an odd way to sell books--by having reviews that trash the merchandise. Though you can make the case for providing a consumer guide by offering yay and nay opinions.
I've certainly been disembowled by Amazon reviews. One woman hated my book so much I thought she'd probably turn me into the feds. She even wrote me personally to tell me how much she hated my book. She wanted to make sure that I saw the review she'd posted.
Now, I like Amazon. I buy virtually all my new books from them. But their reviews--not so much. And not just because I get dinged occsionaly but also because there's always seemed to me some weird Phillip K. Dickian system at play that low lives (i.e. me and my buds) aren't supposed to know about.
All this is preamble to recommending a fine strange article by Garth Risk Hallberg on Slate http://www.slate.com/id/2182002/pagenum/all/#page_start that is well worth your time.
What's interesting is that Hallberg isn't just complaining. He's seriously trying to understand the process by which you become a Top Ten Amazon reviewe and what such reviewers portend for the future.
This certainly won't deter me from shopping on Amazon. But it is a lenghty look at a rather weird reviewing system.
the literary amateur.
By Garth Risk Hallberg
Posted Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2008, at 7:33 AM ET
"Full disclosure: It was late at night, in a fit of furtive self-Googling, that I discovered the first Amazon customer review of my debut book of fiction. "Superb," wrote Grady Harp of Los Angeles. "Fascinating ... addictive." Not to mention "profound." Such extravagance should have aroused suspicion, but I was too busy basking in the glow of a five-star rave to worry about the finer points of Harp's style. Sure, he'd spelled my name wrong, but hadn't he also judged me "a sensitive observer of human foibles"? Only when I noticed the "Top 10 Reviewer" tag did I wonder whether Grady Harp was more than just a satisfied customer. After a brief e-mail exchange, my publicist confirmed that she'd solicited Grady Harp's review.
"I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but I had imagined Amazon's customer reviews as a refuge from the machinations of the publishing industry: "an intelligent and articulate conversation ... conducted by a group of disinterested, disembodied spirits," as James Marcus, a former editor at the company, wrote in his memoir, Amazonia: Five Years at the Epicenter of the Dot.Com Juggernaut. Indeed, with customers unseating salaried employees like Marcus as the company's leading content producers, Amazon had been hailed as a harbinger of "Web 2.0"—an ideal realm where user-generated consensus trumps the bankrupt pieties of experts. As I explored the murky understory of Amazon's reviewer rankings, however, I came to see the real Web 2.0 as a tangle of hidden agendas—one in which the disinterested amateur may be an endangered species.
(more)
"Like celebrity bloggers and Wikipedia "Gnomes," then, the Top Amazon Reviewer heralds the arrival of a curious hybrid: part customer, part employee. This feels like a loss. But perhaps it means that in the coming age, every writer will be a salesman: up past dark, sifting through the data stream for evidence that somewhere, some honest soul is buying."
I've certainly been disembowled by Amazon reviews. One woman hated my book so much I thought she'd probably turn me into the feds. She even wrote me personally to tell me how much she hated my book. She wanted to make sure that I saw the review she'd posted.
Now, I like Amazon. I buy virtually all my new books from them. But their reviews--not so much. And not just because I get dinged occsionaly but also because there's always seemed to me some weird Phillip K. Dickian system at play that low lives (i.e. me and my buds) aren't supposed to know about.
All this is preamble to recommending a fine strange article by Garth Risk Hallberg on Slate http://www.slate.com/id/2182002/pagenum/all/#page_start that is well worth your time.
What's interesting is that Hallberg isn't just complaining. He's seriously trying to understand the process by which you become a Top Ten Amazon reviewe and what such reviewers portend for the future.
This certainly won't deter me from shopping on Amazon. But it is a lenghty look at a rather weird reviewing system.
the literary amateur.
By Garth Risk Hallberg
Posted Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2008, at 7:33 AM ET
"Full disclosure: It was late at night, in a fit of furtive self-Googling, that I discovered the first Amazon customer review of my debut book of fiction. "Superb," wrote Grady Harp of Los Angeles. "Fascinating ... addictive." Not to mention "profound." Such extravagance should have aroused suspicion, but I was too busy basking in the glow of a five-star rave to worry about the finer points of Harp's style. Sure, he'd spelled my name wrong, but hadn't he also judged me "a sensitive observer of human foibles"? Only when I noticed the "Top 10 Reviewer" tag did I wonder whether Grady Harp was more than just a satisfied customer. After a brief e-mail exchange, my publicist confirmed that she'd solicited Grady Harp's review.
"I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but I had imagined Amazon's customer reviews as a refuge from the machinations of the publishing industry: "an intelligent and articulate conversation ... conducted by a group of disinterested, disembodied spirits," as James Marcus, a former editor at the company, wrote in his memoir, Amazonia: Five Years at the Epicenter of the Dot.Com Juggernaut. Indeed, with customers unseating salaried employees like Marcus as the company's leading content producers, Amazon had been hailed as a harbinger of "Web 2.0"—an ideal realm where user-generated consensus trumps the bankrupt pieties of experts. As I explored the murky understory of Amazon's reviewer rankings, however, I came to see the real Web 2.0 as a tangle of hidden agendas—one in which the disinterested amateur may be an endangered species.
(more)
"Like celebrity bloggers and Wikipedia "Gnomes," then, the Top Amazon Reviewer heralds the arrival of a curious hybrid: part customer, part employee. This feels like a loss. But perhaps it means that in the coming age, every writer will be a salesman: up past dark, sifting through the data stream for evidence that somewhere, some honest soul is buying."
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