Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
Frank’s the man you want to talk to at AICN if you want to talk about books. I mean, I read voraciously (last week, I loved Max Barry’s new JENNIFER GOVERNMENT and started to work my way through the Penguin reprints of Ian Fleming’s original James Bond novels), but this guy has been writing his book column for the site for over a year now. Good stuff, and today’s no exception.
Lets make something clear. Ok? Books are not movies, and should never be confused in any way shape or form. Reason I bring this up? The 25th Hour by David Benioff, and the movie of the same name written by the same author, is a fine example of what worries me. Some one on the AICN staff commented after seeing this movie, "Who woke Spike Lee up?" Good Question, a naïve one, but good all the same. Spike stubbed his toe on this wonderfully written and incredibly moving morality tale. Monty Brogan does bad things, Monty Brogan goes to the gray bar mansion for a seven year stretch. But wait; are they really bad, these things he did? Spike didn't write this movie, thankfully, and he didn't think he needed to adapt it either. Thank God. Spike lovers out there, remain in your seats. I like the guy's stuff, but on this flick, he needed to let some one else drive the bus. Benioff makes one mistake with this brilliant adaptation of his own novel. He thinks the ending that Monty is basically dreaming while driving off to the joint, would actually make decent cinema. It doesn't. You can tell the story, with Ed Norton talking aloud this possible dream future, but you can't film it. Dressing him up as an old man, living with his long lost love in some nowhere town, in anywhere U.S.A. It works great on the page, but it detracts from a movie that is all adrenaline performance based. End the movie and script with Monty walking up the path away from his friends. Then cut to the credits rolling over the Brooklyn Esplanade. Simple. But Spike must wrap it up nice and neat!!! Can someone out there in movie land make an arbitrary and confusing ending to a movie?
I'll buy this DVD for three reasons. The lead performances. Which are by far some of the most incredible work I've seen in sometime. Right up they're with Day Lewis in GONY. But watch Norton, really, watch him. He's almost to smart and too good for any movie he's in. Can this guy be any better at the craft, and at this young age? I struggle for a comparison. Or Brian Cox, secretly taking that hit of beer, teetotaler that he is. Barry Pepper! Oh man!!! That little monologue at the end in the nightclub? Or the speech over looking ground zero, Wow! And of course Phillip Seymour Hoffman, what else can I say. Would great be too much?
I'm here for the books. Anyone who watches these movies should know where it all came from. Read Benioff's book, it's brilliant. That's the difference between these two particular mediums. But as you all know...
IT’S NOT A SECRET IF I DON’T TELL ANYONE
HE KILLS COPPERS by Jake Arnott
Soho Books; 327 pages
English police procedurals. Police procedurals. I love them both. Especially one that is filled with more than it's share of rude and creatively exquisite gangsters and rogues. Jake Arnott takes what I can only imagine to be a real event, and spins it through his chamber of secrets. Where does Arnott get his training? Where did he do the research for this novel? He seems to have the boredom of the policemen he writes about down to a science, and the criminal urges of those coppers sewn in perfectly. At the outset of this overly descriptive and sometimes verbally lumpy police thriller or cat and mouse game, we meet three distinctive people. One; Sid, a Nancy boy tabloid reporter, who's got some violent tendencies. Two; Sergeant Frank Taylor, who prefers hookers, beds them, and keeps his conscious at bay while he takes behind the scenes money from the people he's employed to arrest. Finally, we've presented with a narrow-minded momma's boy named Billy Porter, who at the outset is pegged for all to see as the killer.
Arnott is miraculous with his detail, and savage with the wit and lack of fear he places at the heart of all three of these men. While Sid is chasing the Porter story, he becomes a sex scandal/murder participant in his own "story". There are parts of his plotline that are as thin and stereotypical as you'll ever find, but they seem to fit as off setting and blinding as they are. Frank on the other hand seems to be a career asshole, with nothing to loose, and no conscience worry about. He simply looks out for number one. Porter on the other hand who's deeds get the ball rolling, is a strangely one sided version of Rambo. The parallels between Porter and Rambo are scary. Especially when he takes off into the mountains. But what is Porter's story, you ask. He kills coppers, simple. Arnott blends these three story lines dangerously, while keeping all American readers up to speed on the Queen's English. Some of the slang, side talk and references to simple things like a policeman's beat are strangely hard to remember. "A patch" is where Arnott's cops work. "Snout" is the term for Informants, and he's got a slew of names for homosexuals and cops on the take.
By mentioning these things, I remind my self just how distracting they are to the flow of the story. This novel could have easily ended around page two fifty, but goes on down a lonely road, which at the time seems like a red herring. Arnott knows from where he speaks. There is no doubt about that. He brings together British culture circa 1960's together with national identity, via football. And he does it with an enviable style and talent. But it's the language of the novel, as heavy handed as it is, that holds this book down. Jake Arnott impresses me, certainly, and I'm glad I read this book. This is his second novel, the first being The Long Firm. Purists out there are going to take me to task for my criticisms of the British language. Too bad, because it hurts this story, and that's a shame.
MATCHSTICK MEN by Eric Garcia
Villard; 226 pages
Eric Garcia is mostly known for two things, Anonymous Rex and Casual Rex, his first two detective novels about a Dinosaur; a velociraptor. This series has astounded critics, stunned detective lovers, and basically put me off due to its implausibility. I have such a hard time with make believe, but then again, I'm an admitted fiction junkie. The main character Vincent Rubio lives his life in a latex suit that makes him look like a human. Turns out, Dinosaurs never became extinct; they lived, (secretly) and now make up about five percent of the human population. They have doctors, lawyers and detectives like Rubio. Garcia has written two novels in this series, and a third is on the way. Serial stories, for me, dissolve rather quickly when we're expected as readers to believe that these characters will live on and on. One mishap after another narrowly avoided, and we have to wait for the next chapter, or in this case, the next book. I very much like stand-alone characters, but then again, Michael Keaton's character in Get Shorty and Jackie Brown is a recurring member of Elmore Leonard's dance troupe. I like that, but not enough to base a series of novels around him. Don't get me wrong; Leonard's writing can be compared to a cold dish of Alpo. But if dogs like it, then it must have something going for it. Garcia appeared to have a knack, a quirk; he stumbled on something unique with his Rubio detective series. Looking over this work, while it is unique, he appeared to have pigeon holed him self at the same time. I'm here to report that this is not the case. The proof is in this little wafer-thin loosely veiled con game called Matchstick Men. I'd like to see this in my minds eye with out the sticker on the cover announcing that this book will be a movie next summer or fall. I didn't need to know that Ridley Scott is firmly placed in the director's chair. This book came out in November of this 2002, the movie is nearly finished now. That means Ridley was presented with the manuscript to this book at least a year ago, at least. Nicholas Cage and Sam Rockwell play the leads. Now. Knowing all this can you really read the book with a clear mind? On the whole you'd have to say no. But in this case, it's particular, and very subjective, but I believe you can, and you will enjoy it. It's hard to know in advance that the images you dream up when reading a novel have already been replaced with real live people. These lines blur between fiction and cinema. Some times what you do know can hurt you.
Did Villard need to put that sticker on the book? Yes. To sell more copies. Yes to market it. Yes to save a novel from obscurity. Sad but true. Let's hope this novel does not drift off into the sea of remainders. Roy and Frankie are con men. This is tough to pull off, unless you're Mamet. I adore Mamet, and Garcia tips his hat to the master with this bleak charade. Immediately you know that Garcia has two hundred and twenty two pages to tell this story. That's not a lot. And I'll tell you what. Not a page is wasted. Roy is overweight, and seems to eat what ever he wants. Frankie is squirrelly, witty, and money hungry. The only thing these guys have in common is that they're both on the make, constantly on the con.
The story opens with a bang; Roy and Frankie rip two college kids off in a diner, with a basic card trick. They both know what they do is wrong, but it's legitimized by the fact that they're making a living at it. They are professional scammers, and that takes talent, nerves of steel and balls to match. Checking the obituaries, finding a grieving widow, and then showing up to convince her that her late husband ordered a new roof to be put on, just before he died, and then getting a deposit on the job from the grieving widow, seems too far fetched to be true. But Roy and Frankie pull it off. This is just one scam in a long line of scams that these two characters pull off, with ease. This book is filled with cons, scams, long and short, that will look familiar to anyone who's seen The Sting or House of Games. Now, the background, the characterization is where the truth of this book can be discovered. Roy suffers from an obsessive-compulsive disorder. Frankie is just a money/action junkie. Both work and play off each other in a causal way that should tip you off, immediately. Roy's obsessive nature needs to be treated, and Frankie recommends a doctor who can cure him. This doctor after discussing what he can do for Roy, get's Roy to tell him all his life's secrets. His past, which borders on the stereotypical, is used against him almost immediately. This doctor is preying on Roy, and you know it right away. Or do you? Roy is forced to meet, through the doctor, the daughter he never knew he had. Amazing what a shrink can do once he hears your life story. Angela enters Roy's life, and by doing so, complicates his relationship with Frankie. This is as far as I can go with this description. I never saw it coming, but I knew something was afoot. Remember Garcia got these four balls in the air, juggles them flawlessly, and does it in fewer than two hundred and thirty pages. Nothing is left out. But its very economical at the same. There are several red herrings that David Mamet and Ricky Jay would be proud of. It's a con game. This is a book about guys who rip other guys off for a living, and that's enough for me. You'll be impressed with the book, but it will ruin the movie. But who cares. I still dig Fight Club the movie. But not as much as Fight Club the book. When I read that treasure Fincher and company were still working on other projects. So the lines hadn't been connected for me. My imagination still had time to make it's own decisions. Is this a book that could have done with out a movie tie in version? Yes. Sadly the movie will come out just in time to for the movie art to be slapped on the trade paperback. Why does everyone have to have a symbiotic marketing plan? Can things just stand-alone? Since when does a successful marketing plan include selling the movie rights before the book is even published? Can Hollywood create something original, with out strip mining the literary landscape?
Is Eric Garcia capable of telling stories that don't include a Dinosaur? Absolutely. He's a great storyteller and has a wonderful imagination. Check this book out. So at least you'll know where the movie came from.
As always, you can reach our man Frank at his e-mail addy, and tell him I sent ya.
"Moriarty" out.
