Miscellaneous: Today’s Random Connection

The other night I take down my copy of David Mamet’s 1988 play Speed-The-Plow. Yes, I keep Mamet around the house. Why? To learn some craft. To have a sense of How Things Are Done. To “study.” Because I – I feel that ... look. Like the man says, if you have to ask ...

Two Hollywood executives are considering a pair of potential projects. One is a prison movie starring a box-office draw. The other is a book being given a courtesy read. A book by “A Very Famous Eastern Writer.” A book called The Bridge, or: Radiation and the Half-Life of Society. Or, as the execs call it, The Radiation Book. Here’s how some of it goes:

“The wind against the Plains, but not a wind of change ... a wind like that one which he’d been foretold, the rubbish of the world – swirling, swirling ...”

And more:

“What was coming was a return to the self, which is to say, a return to God ... And the man saw that ... things were ending. Yes. That things must end. And that vouchsafed to him a vision of infinity.”

What is it? “It’s a novel about the historical effects of radiation.” Yes, but What Is It About? Simple. It’s about The End Of The World. It’s about a man and a child. It’s about what we all feel. Everyone is frightened. Everything is breaking down. Things as we know them are over. Or, to quote the coverage: “the device of God, in all things, to prepare the world for its final decay.”

In other words, it’s Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.

Not that I’ve read the book. I don’t do everything Oprah tells me to do. Besides, I’m waiting for the movie.

Sports: My Impoverished Fantasy Life

In Slate, David Roth writes about how fantasy baseball has destroyed his ability to enjoy the game – and, to his eternal shame, to root unabashedly for the New York Mets, currently riding high atop the NL East.

Every season I say I’m going to join a fantasy league, and every season I don’t do it. I couldn’t tell you why. It just doesn’t interest me. Apparently, the only people left who still watch baseball games for the pure pastoral joy of the sport are Bob Costas, George Will and me. Company that’s not as august as you’d think. Just once I’d like to see one of those guys reach for his wallet when the hot dog vendor comes around.

MLB’s Extra Innings package is pitched to fans who can’t watch their hometown teams. That’s why I sprang for it. But the true market is fantasy fanatics who want to follow their rosters in real time.

You’d think access to a dozen-plus ballgames a day would up my interest in fantasy play. Nope. My viewing remains Mets-centric. Take last night. I caught most of the Mets/Giants game, an extra innings corker that ended with Armando Benitez, a former Mets reliever, getting called for two balks against Jose Reyes to bring the tying run across the plate before Carlos Delgado’s solo HR took it for the Mets in the bottom of the twelfth.

To quote Strangers With Candy, “If you’re paying for cable and not watching TV, you’re losing money. It’s just simple economics.” So on I went to the end of the Braves/Brewers game, hoping the Mets’ division rivals would fall even further back. (They did.) I closed the evening out with a little of the Mariners/Angels. All games that I watched and enjoyed, you know, as games. No divided loyalties. No sweat involved.

OK, I sweated a little during the Mets game. But that’s the price of being a true fan.

Other baseball notes: Sports Illustrated on how Mets’ GM Omar Minaya transformed the team into a contender. Hat tip to my brother Sean. And a terrific baseball blog with a focus on the Los Angeles Dodgers written by ... Alyssa Milano?!?

DVD: Not Just The Best Of The Larry Sanders Show

How did I spend my Memorial Day weekend? Consuming every facet of this extraordinary 4-disc set.

I’ll admit this right off the bat: The Larry Sanders Show is my all-time favorite TV series. I’ll stack it up against any comedy or drama. It helps that Larry is a perfect blend of both, an achingly funny series about a troika of characters so rich and well-defined they’d be at home in a Eugene O’Neill play. Insecure talk show host Larry (Garry Shandling), his loyal producer Artie (Rip Torn), and his talent-challenged sidekick Hank Kingsley (Jeffrey Tambor, giving full voice to the show’s most inspired creation).

Sanders is primarily remembered for the groundbreaking way it used real-life figures to comment on America’s growing obsession with show business, and those scenes draw blood to this day. Plenty of actors did the best work of their careers playing themselves. Like Illeana Douglas, worrying that boyfriend Larry will dump her if she tanks on his show. Jim Carrey’s turn on the final episode, his showmanship curdling into malignant narcissism as soon as the cameras are off, is nothing short of spellbinding. The later shows featuring Jon Stewart as Larry’s heir apparent make for particularly fascinating viewing now that Stewart has not only become this generation’s answer to Johnny Carson but has reinvented the role so completely.

For me, the show’s other true subject is work. You’re always aware of the enormous amount of effort that goes into making a standard-issue talk show that struggles in the ratings.

Aside: I always loved the episodes where something on the show would go so wrong that Artie would announce, “Tonight will be a ‘Best of Larry.’” It got to the point where I became disappointed that Jay and Dave never aired unscheduled reruns. Apparently I should have been watching The View, which had the decency to put the dysfunction front and center.

As the collection’s name implies, the episodes are cherry-picked from the show’s six seasons. Some personal favorites are missing. Artie’s drunken night in the office isn’t here, and neither is Larry’s celebrity roast. But other classics are, such as “Hank’s Sex Tape,” featuring one of the great lines of television history: “Sex is not a crime. It’s a loving act between two or more consenting adults.”

The episodes, though, are mere gravy for the special features. They’re so exhaustive that they essentially constitute a lost season of Larry, focused as they are on the divide between performer and performance, or what Garry Shandling calls “the curtain.” Shandling was intimately involved with assembling this collection; he even handwrites the introductions to his visits with the show’s guest stars. He boxes with Alec Baldwin and has breakfast with one-time paramour Sharon Stone, who played Larry’s love interest in one of the show’s strongest episodes. Their encounter quickly breaks through the playful artifice to plumb emotions with Cassavetes intensity. Shandling also reconnects with people who worked behind the scenes on the show. Protégé Judd Apatow cops to stealing Shandling’s creative method. In light of Apatow’s extraordinary success, that may be the show’s most lasting legacy.

I try to keep blanket statements to a minimum, but I already went big with the “all-time favorite” comment, so what the hell. This DVD package is the cultural high point of 2007 so far.

On The Web: The Rap Sheet

The crime fiction blog’s One Book Project has been running all week, and what a treat it’s been. I imagine that none of the overlooked titles mentioned by the participants will be overlooked any more. I’ve got some reading to do.

My nomination appears in the series’ last installment. I’d like to thank Rap Sheet editor J. Kingston Pierce both for asking me to play, and for referring to me as a “culture critic.” The description has gone right to my head and my business card. Other answers we would have accepted include gadabout, curmudgeon, and force for good in his time.

Head over to The Rap Sheet. You’ll enjoy yourself.

Anniversary: John Wayne

Today is the centenary of Marion Morrison’s birth. A war movie, not a western, was my introduction to one of the greatest of film stars. The Duke received his first Academy Award nomination for 1949’s Sands of Iwo Jima, playing a hard-bitten Marine sergeant prepping raw recruits for battle even as his personal life falls apart. It’s a well-made film that hits all the standard war movie notes – it may well have invented some of them – but I didn’t know those notes, so Sands made a vivid impression. Particularly Wayne’s final scene. Now I’d see it coming a mile off. Then, I was shattered for the rest of the day. It’s the strength of Wayne’s onscreen presence that gives the moment its impact.

Wayne was honored at Grauman’s Chinese Theater after the success of the movie. The cement in which he left his footprints and his fist print was mixed with sand from Iwo Jima.

GreenCine Daily rounds up tributes to the actor. James Reasoner lists his favorite John Wayne films. I second ‘em all.

Book: Then We Came To The End, by Joshua Ferris (2007)

Two weeks ago I said I wanted to rave about Joshua Ferris’ extraordinary novel Then We Came To The End. The fact that I’m determined to make good on that promise should tell you just how extraordinary it is.

The book, set in a struggling Chicago advertising agency in the waning days of the dot-com boom, is about work. Ferris tells the story largely in the first person plural, hence the ‘we’ of the title. Far from being a literary trick, this device illuminates the book’s essential truth: that for the eight hours a day in which “you walk around on the same bit of carpet” (to quote another brilliant examination of the modern workplace), you and your coworkers are all part of something larger. That something larger changes as people come and go, and will retain some trace of you after you’ve gone. The sad fact is none of us has any say in what part lingers. It’s about nothing less than finding the transcendent in the everyday, which sounds way too high-falutin’, so I’ll conclude thusly: Ferris’ darkly funny book is the best thing I’ve read in ages, and it knocked me on my ass.

TV: Current

Watching Al Gore on The Daily Show last night got me wondering. Is Current, his TV network, still on?

Turns out it is. According to my channel guide, here’s what’s airing in the next few hours:

International Insight
Global Scene
Random Insight
Views & Voices
Random & Riveting
Sum of the Parts
Parts of the Sum
Rebel Journalism
Citizen Journalism

Even better, every show has the identical description. News and current events. Hard to imagine SpikeTV is more popular.

On The Web: The Rap Sheet

Today marks the one year anniversary of The Rap Sheet, the crime fiction blog that has quickly become indispensable. Industrious types that they are, they’re not celebrating idly. Instead, they’re using the occasion for The One Book Project. A question was posed to authors, critics, and bloggers:

What one crime, mystery or thriller novel do you think has been most unjustly overlooked, criminally forgotten, or underappreciated over the years?

Answers will be posted all week. Installments one, two and three are available, and my to-be-read pile has swelled accordingly. Plenty of great titles there to be plundered.

It’s always a relief with such lists to see that I’ve read some of these books. Even better, I loved ‘em. Steve Brewer picks any of Ross Thomas’s standalones, singling out The Singapore Wink. Blogger Jiro Kimura names Dover Beach by Richard Bowker. Bowker wrote several SF/mystery hybrids in the 1980s that sustained me through high school, including Replica and Marlborough Street, and I’ve still got them all. Gar Anthony Haywood nominates Eight Million Ways To Die by Lawrence Block, saying it hasn’t “received anywhere near the credit it deserves for turning the P.I. subgenre on its head.” In a recent conversation on Crimespace, I said that this was the book that truly kindled my interest in crime fiction. It’s great to see it remembered here.

Swing on by and unearth some treasures for yourself. Full disclosure: Rap Sheet editor J. Kingston Pierce was kind enough to ask me to participate. With any luck, my answer should appear there before the week is out. I’ll let you know when it does.

Miscellaneous: Links

Bill Crider, who’s already weighed in at The Rap Sheet, on a Gold Medal paperback that might be one of the first graphic novels. Michael at 2 Blowhards sings the praises of Ed Gorman.

GreenCine Daily is always a regular stop, but during the Cannes Film Festival it’s essential. They have complete recaps of reaction to every major film as soon as it debuts. A Bela Tarr adaptation of Georges Simenon in which Tilda Swinton’s dialogue is dubbed by a Hungarian actress? I am so there. Or at least I would be, if Tarr movies ever played Stateside.

Music: The Bad Plus

Wednesday was our wedding anniversary. Rosemarie and I marked the occasion with a pizza and pushed the festivities to Friday night. Drinks at our usual hangout. Dinner at a fine restaurant. Some live music. And what live music. The Bad Plus was in town.

They’re a jazz trio – Ethan Iverson on piano, Reid Anderson on bass, David King on drums – that mixes terrific original compositions with singular covers. Their latest album Prog includes distinctive takes on “Everybody Wants To Rule The World,” “This Guy’s In Love With You,” and “Life on Mars” by David Bowie*. We lucked out and got to hear their version of Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” live, along with a haunting rendition of “Heart of Gold” by Neil Young.

It was a tremendous set. David King uses a variety of children’s toys to achieve the desired sound, and it’s dazzling to see (and hear) him work his magic in person.

After the show, the boys hung around to sign CDs. I spoke briefly with Ethan Iverson, a big crime fiction buff, about our mutual admiration for Donald E. Westlake – and complimented his version of the opening scene of Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code as written by Westlake’s alter ego Richard Stark. I told him it was one of my favorite things on the Internet. I wasn’t lying.

All that, and the Mets beat the Yankees. What a day.

The Bad Plus is in Seattle through Sunday, followed by dates across the U.S. and Europe. Catch them if you can.

* Bowie’s song has been everywhere lately. I was getting a haircut when I heard Seu Jorge’s Portuguese cover from The Life Aquatic soundtrack. Looking it up on Rhapsody led me to discover that Barbra Streisand recorded the song in 1974. Nobody says “crashing bore” like Babs.

Upcoming: No Country For Old Men

For me, the rest of the moviegoing year will be a countdown to the Coen Brothers’ adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s neo-noir thriller, which has electrified the Cannes Film Festival. Variety’s Todd McCarthy raves. GreenCine has a round-up of other reactions.

Miscellaneous: Links

To quote Rosemarie on this New York Times article, “It keeps getting better!” You’ve got living saint Bono versus the man responsible for the worst dancing ever recorded, a still-feisty at age 95 Mitch Miller, and Marshall Brickman calling in to update his jokes. It’s a story that keeps on giving.

Novelist/gadabout Ray Banks explains the title of his latest book, with a minor assist from yours truly. I’m “a man knows his filth,” and I couldn’t be more proud.

The AV Club on twelve movies that define their decades. As exercises go, picking a single movie that encapsulates its era is a fairly pointless one. Still, the AV Club crew does a pretty good job. Each of the films does capture the flavor of life at the time; the choices for the 1950s (Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?) and the 1980s (Back to the Future) are particularly strong. The biggest surprise was realizing that the list includes the current decade (their choice: The 25th Hour), because it’s more than half over.

Miscellaneous: Today’s Random Thoughts

Watching The Sopranos during the day just feels wrong. Especially when it’s an episode as disturbing as the one that premiered on Sunday.

Interesting article by Lauren Collins in the May 14 issue of The New Yorker about the reclusive graffiti artist Banksy. It stands to reason that Banksy would have a website where he can post comments. Same goes for a professional photographer who may or not have taken Banksy’s picture, and various art critics. But when the head of Los Angeles’ animal services, who objected to the use of a painted elephant in a Banksy installation, has a blog, we have reached a strange cultural stage. This could be the future of journalism. A reporter simply visits the blogs of every person involved in an incident, aggregates them, and creates a semi-definitive version of events. Call it Rashoblog. (That’s trademarked, by the way.)

Collins also makes this interesting comparison, which I’m still pondering:

“The graffitist’s impulse is akin to a blogger’s: write some stuff, quickly, which people may or may not read. Both mediums demand wit and nimbleness. They arouse many of the same fears about the lowering of the public discourse and the taking of undeserved liberties.”

I can resist any TV commercial pitch – unless Bruce Campbell is involved. Hat tip to Bill Crider. What am I going to do with all this body spray?

I’m late to this party, but so what: Mika’s song “Lollipop” is now playing in my head in a constant loop. It’s a strangely perfect blend of Queen and The Jackson 5. It’s like a Pixie Stick for your ears.

Miscellaneous: Neither Waving Nor Drowning

A New York childhood taught me that the light of the end of the tunnel is usually an oncoming train, often an express at that. Still, I see such a light, and I am hopeful. In the meantime, some tidbits.



The best movie I’ve seen in years debuts on DVD this Tuesday. Jean-Pierre Melville’s WWII resistance drama Army of Shadows receives the full Criterion treatment. Here’s what I said about it last August. Do yourself a favor and watch it as soon as you can.

Arrested Development, season two? Every bit the equal of season one.

Thanks to MLB Extra Innings, I have now seen commercials for every mid-level casino and regional brand of cold cuts in the continental United States.

At other blogs: Bill Crider has Joe R. Lansdale weighing in on zombie movies. And Ray Banks takes apart the Eurovision Song Contest. I demand to know why this spectacle isn’t televised in the U.S.

After weeks of searching, I finally scored some of Stephen Colbert’s Ameri-cone Dream ice cream from Ben & Jerry’s. A quality product. It’s a good thing Jane Fonda didn’t have any on hand during her recent Colbert Report segment. I won’t go as far as Salon’s Joan Walsh. I will say that supermodel Paulina Porizkova did a better job of flirting with the host – and with her husband Ric Ocasek present.

A lovely old brick apartment building around the corner from Chez K is being slowly demolished. I took some pictures of what remains. They’re posted on my Flickr page.

Miscellaneous: The Missing Links

It’s at times like this I think I don’t know how to use the Interweb at all.

I’m working like a lackey from rise to set, sweating in the eye of Phoebus. I haven’t read/seen/listened to anything I want to comment on. (OK, that’s untrue. I want to rave about Joshua Ferris’ extraordinary novel Then We Came To The End, but I don’t have time to do it justice. So, for the nonce: read it.)

You’d think I’d be able to throw together a post full of amusing links. Odd news stories, funny videos, bizarre items available for purchase. Only I seldom discover those wacky bits of detritus online. I visit the same handful of sites over and over, hoping they’ve updated. I don’t know where those people find their stuff. And I want to bring something new to the table. I don’t want to be the umpteenth person linking to the music video featuring that insanely cute polar bear cub in the German zoo because I happened to see it on The Colbert Report last night. Maybe I’m doing this Internet thing wrong.

For now, I’ll steer you once again toward Vulture, the New York magazine pop culture blog now enshrined on my Links page. In fact, check out any place on the Links page.

Mark Evanier says it’s an ancient Internet tradition for a blogger to put up a photo of a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup when he’s too busy to post. As I said, I strive to be different. So here’s a new VK.C tradition. When under the gun, I will post the video for ‘Crucified’ by Army of Lovers. A band consisting of my first wife, my half-brother Nils, and the guy who used to handle my landscaping. And I’m not talking about yard work.

Miscellaneous: The Grindstone Report

Been toting that barge and lifting that bail. Lately I’ve had just enough energy to collapse in front of the TV and watch baseball. Luckily the Mets are in the middle of a west coast swing. Related link: New York Times business columnist Harry Hurt III tries his hand as a vendor at Shea Stadium, where more hot dogs are consumed than any other ballpark in the league. In your face, Yankees! Make sure to watch the accompanying video.

If it’s not baseball, it’s season one of Arrested Development. The pangs of retroactive guilt I feel for not fully supporting this series when it originally ran on Fox are eased by the fact that I can take an hour and binge on three episodes in a row. The show produces a dizzying screwball high, particularly the initial 13 episodes, which are as funny as anything that has ever aired on American television.

A critic – I can’t remember who – once said of the Scottish writer/director Bill Forsyth that he was one of the few filmmakers alive to “the comic possibilities of goodness.” The same dynamic is at play on Arrested. Jason Bateman and Michael Cera, playing father and son, wring endless humor out of being the only rational people in a family full of grasping greedheads. The entire ensemble is peerless, but you’d be hard-pressed to top Will Arnett as the deluded “magician” Gob. There hasn’t been such a gloriously self-involved character since Hank Kingsley on The Larry Sanders Show. It’s only fitting, then, that Jeffrey Tambor plays Gob’s father. (I recently ordered the new Sanders collection on DVD. That’s my next big project.)

The commentary tracks on the Arrested DVDs are hilarious. They also provide a fascinating window into the process of making series TV. (David Mamet: “Features are a marathon. TV is running until you’re dead.”) Arrested never had an easy time, a fact reflected on the tracks for the 13th episode, which the cast and crew initially assumed would be their last, and the season finale, filmed while the show’s fate was in doubt. In each case, creator Mitchell Hurwitz and the writers labored to wrap up the storylines while still leaving room for the series to continue. Somehow, they pulled it off. Season two awaits. A sensible man would pace himself, but I’m diving right in.

All this means that I haven’t been to see Spider-Man 3 yet. New York magazine’s Vulture blog considers some less successful threequels. I still maintain that Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome is the best part three. Other nominations welcome.

Book: Robbie’s Wife, by Russell Hill (2007)

Hard Case Crime has won me over with their reprints. Not a dud in the bunch. I’ve found their original titles to be hit-and-miss.

Robbie’s Wife belongs in the hit category. It starts with what may be the quintessential noir premise: a man, a woman, her husband. But Hill updates it into something quite special. There’s the setting, the English countryside during an outbreak of hoof-and-mouth disease. The characters, a failed Hollywood screenwriter in his sixties and a fortyish dancer-turned-farmwife, are older than the ones typically caught up in a love triangle, giving their actions an edge of desperation. Hill experiments with form, too, rendering parts of the story as scenes in his protagonist’s screenplay. Above all there’s the extraordinarily fluid writing. Hill is also a poet, and that comes across in his prose. This book is one of Hard Case’s best yet. Don’t miss it.

Miscellaneous: Casting Call

One of the joys of spring and summer, as I’ve said before, is listening to the great Vin Scully call baseball games for the L.A. Dodgers. During Tuesday’s showdown with Arizona, Vin recounted the amazing story of D-backs’ pitcher Livan Hernandez’s defection from Cuba with the aid of a mysterious figure known only as “El Gordo,” or The Fat Man (in actuality sports agent Joe Cubas). Vin began speculating on the cinematic possibilities of this tale, casting Antonio Banderas as Hernandez. He was torn on who should play “El Gordo,” however. Sydney Greenstreet was the obvious choice, Vin said, “or, going back a few more years, Akim Tamiroff.”

I was holding out for Thomas Gomez myself. Still, I want to live in Vin’s world, where such a movie would be possible.

It turns out there was a film on this subject in the works several years ago that would have starred Banderas – only as “El Gordo,” with then newly-minted Oscar-winner Cuba Gooding, Jr. playing Livan’s brother and current Met Orlando.

Miscellaneous: Links

Can I buy tickets to this movie right now? Just asking.

The remodeled and expanded Seattle Art Museum looks like a hit.

Slate offers a slideshow chronicling Spider-Man’s journey into darkness in both comics and film. Don’t miss the list of Spidey’s victims, including the separate category of “sentient robots Spider-Man has killed.”

Miscellaneous: The April Clean-Up Post

Among the helpful suggestions I received in response to my recent anniversary post was the notion from Alice at Random Musings to recap what I watched/read at the end of each month. It’s a good idea that far outstrips my organizational abilities. I’d have to, you know, keep track of stuff.

Instead, here’s the inaugural edition of the Things I Meant To Get To This Month post.

Friends With Money. I finally caught up with Nicole Holofcener’s movie on cable, and think it’s one of the best films of 2006. A wonderful script that makes smart observations about life, happiness, class and Los Angeles.

Blood of Paradise, by David Corbett. Corbett ventures into Graham Greene/Robert Stone territory with his latest novel. The son of a disgraced Chicago cop finds a new life as a bodyguard in El Salvador. Then faces from his father’s past catch up with him. An intense personal story mixed with a pointed political one, revisiting the scene of an earlier U.S. misadventure in foreign policy.

Miscellaneous: Corrections & Addenda

The Chez K DVR is also recording the fourth season of Hustle on AMC. VinceKeenan.com regrets the error.

Miscellaneous: Link

The AV Club on 13 failed attempts to start movie franchises. I flat-out love two of these films, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension and Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, and would happily pay to see follow-ups to several others. I’m surprised the list doesn’t include the most egregious offender, Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins, in which the adventure also ended.

TV: Neither Freak Nor Geek

I knew when I got into this racket that the pop culture rubric was a broad one, and that I was better qualified in some areas than others. Consider television. I’ve admitted before that there are plenty of classic and current shows I’ve never seen. But lately I’ve been popping episodes of Arrested Development like Raisinettes, so I thought I could hold my own on the boob tube front.

Apparently not, according to this TV Squad article. (Hat tip to The Rap Sheet.) It lists the ten things you need to be considered a fully-fledged TV geek, and yours truly comes up woefully short. Let’s run through ‘em. Timpani!

(Only a TV geek would make that joke, right? Who else watches the Jerry Lewis Telethon?)

1. At least one TV over forty inches.

No. We only have one TV, and the dimensions of the current Chez K made a plasma screen seem like a waste of money.

2. At least one TiVo or Replay TV.

Yes. We have a DVR, mainly to pluck obscure movies off TCM in the wee small hours. It’s not full. Never has been. We also use it to record the following TV series: The Office, 30 Rock and E!’s The Soup, which crams a week’s worth of bad TV into 22 minutes.

3. At least two VCR’s.

VC-what’s? We have one. I can’t recall the last time we used it for anything. Wait, I think we served drinks off it last month.

4. A videotape filled with episodes of a show only you enjoy.

We have a tape of Blackadder’s Christmas Carol. And who doesn’t enjoy that?

5. A recliner.

Come on.

6. A TV small enough to take anywhere.

No. Besides, I never go anywhere.

7. Total Television, by Alex McNeil.

No. We do have a well-thumbed copy of The Complete Directory To Prime Time Network And Cable TV Shows, 1946-Present, by Tim Brooks and Earle Marsh, although in this cast “present” means “1995.” Because sometimes you just need to know exactly how long Gavilan ran.

8. Digital cable or a satellite.

Yes. But that’s so I can watch Mets games.

9. Two or more biographies by TV personalities that shouldn’t have been written.

I can only cop to one: Backstage With The Original Hollywood Square, by Peter Marshall. But it came with a CD of zingers from the show, and I could make the case that the book needed, nay, demanded to be written.

10. ‘Television’s Greatest Hits’ CDs by Tee Vee Toons.

Nope. Never even tempted.

So that’s one point each for #2 and #8. I feel that I deserve partial credit for #7 and #9, as well as the fact that I can identify the author of this article, Paul Goebel, from his stint on the Comedy Central game show Beat The Geeks. Giving me a final score of ... what, 2.88?

Maybe I should change the subhead of this blog to Movies, Crime Fiction, Baseball, Jazz and Hard Liquor. That’s all I’m really interested in anyway.

Magazines: There’s No Me In Us Weekly

Yet there is in Premiere. Provided you scramble the letters.

The other day we received a card informing us that for every issue remaining in our subscription to the late, not really lamented Premiere, we’d receive a copy of Us Weekly.

Rosemarie: I don’t want that rag in my house. I won’t even look at it when I’m at the gym.

Issue #1 – technically, issue #638 – arrived today. The print is big. See-Jane-run big. Everything is punctuated with exclamation points, including the masthead. One feature measures the gap between the thighs of famous women to show they’re too thin.

Rosemarie: My IQ is actually dropping as I look at this. I can feel it. There goes all my French.

What I didn’t realize is that Us Weekly is essentially nothing but paparazzi photos. I make it a point not to look at these photos, and now bound copies of them are being sent to my house against my will.

Rosemarie: Can we cancel this? I don’t care about the money. I just don’t want other people to see this in our mail.

Only two more issues to go.

(Editor’s Note: Rosemarie would like me to point out that she is a longtime subscriber to InStyle magazine, and that she enjoys that publication very much.)

TV: Line Of The Week

Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin) on the 30 Rock season finale, thinking he’s having a fatal heart attack:

“Ride it, Donaghy! Ride it straight to hell!”

Miscellaneous: YouTube Clip Of The Weekend

I’m now excited about installment four later this summer. Well played. Hat tip to Kung Fu Monkey.

DVD: Cue The Queue

Time to revive the storied tradition – OK, I did this once before – of briefly describing the DVDs gathering dust next to the TV because I’m too busy to watch them.

Arrested Development, Season 1, Disc 2. Whenever I caught an episode, I’d think, “This show is really funny.” I am now working my way through the entire series in sequence. One of the better decisions I’ve made lately.

A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints. It’s a way for me to jump on the Shia LaBoeuf bandwagon, because I haven’t had a chance to catch Disturbia yet. The movie also stars Chazz Palminteri and Robert Downey, Jr., and it don’t get better than them. But mainly I’m interested because Saints is set in “the tough neighborhood of Astoria, Queens. ” I came up in the adjacent ‘hood of Woodside, where I have to say the streets didn’t seem that mean. Then again, I spent most of my time indoors.

Hollywood Burlesque/Peek-A-Boo. Watching burlesque movies, like this double bill from Something Weird Video, for the comedy is like reading Playboy for the articles. Which I also do, thank you very much. There’s something about those interminable baggy-pants sketches that fascinates me, especially on those rare occasions when you see a veteran performer who’s still able to liven up a bit.

One of the burlesque shorts on the disc featured a dancer doing a striptease to an up-tempo rendition of “Danny Boy,” which is wrong on many, many levels. By the time it was over I was weeping, aroused, and angry, which for an Irishman is a normal state of affairs. Back to work.

DVD: Pulp (1972)

Get Carter isn’t just one of the great gangster movies. It topped at least one critics’ poll of the best British films of all time. A year after Carter’s release, star Michael Caine, writer/director Mike Hodges, and producer Michael Klinger reunited for Pulp. Which, to my knowledge, has never topped a critics’ list of any kind. A bare-bones DVD skulked onto the market last week. And while Pulp suffers in comparison to Carter – name a movie that wouldn’t – it’s still worth watching.

Caine plays an author of paperback thrillers, churning out titles like The Organ-Grinder under an array of pseudonyms (Guy Strange, Dan Wild). He agrees to ghostwrite the autobiography of a faded Hollywood star with alleged Mafia connections and soon finds himself neck-deep in the kind of plot he usually dictates into a tape recorder.

Hodges tries to pull off something difficult here, telling a noir tale while sending up the genre’s conventions. It doesn’t completely work, but there are enough smart moments to keep the action interesting. This is the Michael Caine that Craig Ferguson lovingly satirizes, in full ‘70s glory with wavy hair and thick-framed glasses. And while Mickey Rooney may not be believable as an Italian, he shines as the Cagneyesque actor driven by an aging male’s vanity and a celebrity’s narcissism.

One member of the Carter team not brought back is composer Roy Budd. ‘Carter Takes The Train’ is one of the indisputably great main themes, so much so that it was reprised in the 2000 Sylvester Stallone Carter remake, where it was easily the movie’s best feature. Budd had a nice career doing jazz-inflected scores for Euro thrillers of the ‘70s, many starring Caine (The Black Windmill, The Destructors). I’ve been listening to them a lot lately. Good stuff.

TV: Entourage

Naturally, I love this HBO show. It’s about a kid from Queens named Vince whose effortless talent makes him the center of his universe. Frankly, I deserve royalties.

I was willing to let Turtle’s fetishistic obsession with the Yankees go. There are a handful of Bronx Brombers fans in the Mets’ home borough. But I draw the line at this week’s episode, which featured a gratuitous anti-Mets joke. Vince Chase made a movie called Queens Boulevard, for Christ’s sake. There’s got to be at least one Amazins fan in his posse. If Jeremy Piven weren’t still bringing it as Ari Gold, I’d stop watching in protest. For one week.

Miscellaneous: Links

New York magazine’s new pop culture blog Vulture is fast becoming a regular stop. Roger Ebert shows what he’s made of. And personally, I would have looked for Superman first.

Website Update: Links

I finally got around to tweaking the Links page, tricking it out with a crime fiction section so I could add Crimespace and Graham Powell’s CrimeSpot.net. Check ‘em out.

Movies: All I Have To Do Is Meme

Once again, deadlines have me drawing from the meme well. I poached this one from Marty McKee’s blog, Johnny LaRue’s Crane Shot.

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times.

Dr. Strangelove. The Taking of Pelham One Two Three. The Usual Suspects.

2. Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater.

Raiders of the Lost Ark. Pulp Fiction. L.A. Confidential.

3. Name an actor who would make you more inclined to see a movie.

Robert Mitchum. Walter Matthau. From the long list of contemporary actors, two at random: Catherine Keener and Steve Zahn. And Alec Baldwin. And Jennifer Jason Leigh. And Stanley Tucci. And ...

4. Name an actor who would make you less likely to see a movie.

On the rare occasions when I’m tempted to write off an actor, he or she surprises me with a terrific performance. So I’ll say any singer/rapper I’ve never heard of.

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.

Quick Change. “It’s bad luck just seeing a thing like that!” “You two straphangers are interfering with Mrs. Crane’s beverage service!” “Flores! Flores para los muertos!”

6. Name a movie musical from which you know all the lyrics to all the songs.

The Music Man. Someday I will play Professor Harold Hill.

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with.

Xanadu.

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see.

Local Hero. Bull Durham.

9. Name a movie that you own.

Zero Effect. Blowup.

10. Name an actor who launched his/her career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.

Greg Kinnear. The man went from talk show host to premiere interpreter of compromised American manhood.

11. Have you ever seen a movie at a drive-in? If so, what?

No. Not many drive-ins in New York City, and by the time I moved to Florida for high school they were all long gone. Alas.

12. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t gotten around to yet.

Thanks to Netflix and the still-ongoing Shame-Faced, I’ve crossed a lot of these titles off the list. But a few still remain, like The Philadelphia Story.

13. Ever walked out of a movie?

Yes. I left a superhero movie to remain nameless because I decided my time could be better spent buying a couch.

14. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.

Frequency. It’s about fathers, sons, and the New York Mets. I wasn’t the only teary guy in the theater, either.

15. Popcorn?

Hell, no. To quote my only television appearance, “I cannot eat the popcorn knowing what I know.”

16. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)?

At least once a week. We’re sixteen weeks into 2007, and so far I’ve been to the movies eighteen times.

17. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?

Hot Fuzz. Hilarious.

18. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?

Noir, baby. As dark as it gets.

19. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?

Walt Disney’s Dumbo. I think. If not that, another Disney cartoon.

20. What movie do you wish you had never seen?

Any sequel to a movie I didn’t like. Even if I enjoy the follow-up, I feel like an enabler.

21. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?

Not sure what ‘weirdest’ means here. So I’ll say Beyond the Sea. I know the movie is, on many levels, not very good. I also know that I love it.

22. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?

The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The original Dawn of the Dead. The Blair Witch Project.

23. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?

The Palm Beach Story. The Producers. The In-Laws. Slap Shot.

Anyone else wants to take a crack at this list, be my guest.

Miscellaneous: Links As Dark As They Come

L.A.’s noir fest continues, and I continue not to be there for it. The L.A. Times looks at the festival’s bicoastal theme. Eddie Muller makes a key distinction, saying of the New York films:

“the characters want to escape the big city, the teeming metropolis. In L.A., you get to the Promised Land and you realize there’s no escape.”

GreenCine features a terrific multi-part video from January’s Noir City festival in San Francisco with Muller interviewing actress Marsha Hunt, star of Kid Glove Killer and Raw Deal.

The Rap Sheet recently conducted a poll to determine TV’s best cops and gumshoes. The results are in. Yours truly split his ticket, voting for Joe Friday and Jim Rockford.

DVD: Le Petit Lieutenant (U.S. 2006)

Last year I went to New York just as this award-winning French film ended its run there. Naturally, that’s when it played briefly in Seattle. I had to wait for its DVD release to catch up with it.

Lieutenant is the kind of police procedural that has been largely ceded to television. At times it plays like a cinema vérité hybrid of The Wire and Prime Suspect, as a rookie Paris detective adjusts to his duties with help from an alcoholic female superior returning to command. The movie takes its sweet time getting started; half an hour in, I confess to feeling a bit bored. But the plot takes hold once the rookie begins investigating the murder of a homeless man, leading to an ending that long-form TV couldn’t pull off. It’s a slow building film, but one worth watching.

The movie reminded me of Bertrand Tavernier’s L.627. The epic black comedy following a Paris drug squad is the M*A*S*H of cop movies, and as far as I know it’s unavailable on DVD. Who do I talk to about that?

Miscellaneous: Links With Wordy Commentary

First, many thanks to everyone who took the time to comment on the previous anniversary post. I reached double digits, which has been a lifelong dream. Well, the life of this blog, at any rate. I intend to implement much of your advice, particularly my brother’s.

If you haven’t commented, why not skip down and do so? There’s plenty of room and I crave attention.

And now, on with the links ...

I can’t get behind Neal Pollack’s Alternadad stuff. I understand where he’s coming from; no sane parent actually wants to listen to the Wiggles, with the exception of horny moms. But don’t foist Bob Dylan onto your offspring just so you can riff on Blonde on Blonde while helping him with his fractions. Kids need to listen to their own crap.

That said, I love Pollack’s occasional pieces on being a baseball fan. In his latest, he gorges himself at Dodger Stadium.

Another Slate article explains why NBC’s Thank God You’re Here, which isn’t very good, is also not improv.

My hero David Mamet has sold his papers to the University of Texas at Austin. From his 1975 journal:

“David, you absolutely must complete a draft of Buffalo by 1 June. June. You want to be a pauper all your life?”

I’m glad to see he talks that way to himself.

Recently, Steve Lewis’s Mystery*File blog featured Bill Pronzini’s appreciation of novelist Elliott Chaze, prompting a follow-up by Ed Gorman. Comes now word that Chaze’s masterpiece Black Wings Has My Angel may be coming to the big screen courtesy of Mr. Frodo himself. Mssrs. Lewis and Pronzini then weigh in on this development, as does Mr. Gorman.

The next movie I’m dying to see is Hot Fuzz, opening Stateside this week. The AV Club has an interview with the crew responsible in which they discuss their research process:

Director/co-writer Edgar Wright: You watch something like Steven Seagal’s Out For Justice and think, “Hey, someone actually wrote this. There was a screenplay for this film. Somebody sat down and wrote the line, ‘Yo, fucknuts!’ on a page.”

Co-star Nick Frost: Then they must have taken the day off.

What’s more, unless ‘Yo, fucknuts!’ was a particularly inspired ad lib, the someone who wrote it is also the someone who wrote Road House. Proof that lightning can indeed strike twice.

Miscellaneous: Links

Normally, I’m thrilled when people agree with me. But finding out that Steve Lewis had the same reaction to Boston Blackie that I did kinda bums me out.

David Thomson on the ten extraordinary minutes of film for which the late Barry Nelson should be remembered.

Because Rosemarie can’t get enough of him, I give you MC Nuts.

Miscellaneous: Another Year, Another Blogiversary

Wednesday marks three, count ‘em, three years of what a friend of mine has shorthanded to VK-dot-C. Not bad, considering the average lifespan of a blog. (Starting one and then neglecting it? Who would do such a thing?)

The site has evolved over that time. I don’t post every day, or even every other day, any more. And believe it or not, I don’t post about every book I read or movie I see, either. It only seems that way. Somehow, though, I find enough to blather about.

Occasionally I’ll tell myself that it’s time to mix it up. Change the layout of the site, or at least the photos on each page. But life and work intrude, and I never seem to get around to it. The look of the page hasn’t changed in three years, and it may not for three more.

Speaking of work, I’ve got some I should be doing. So I’m going to steal a bit from Ken Levine and ask you to do a little writing. If you’re a regular or semi-regular reader, leave a comment. Say who you are and where you’re from, what you like or what you don’t like about the place. Or you can just say “Hi” to let me know you’re there. (NOTE: Family and friends are not exempt from this request. In fact, I’m relying on you to do your part. You don’t want me to be embarrassed, do you?)

As always, thanks for stopping by. I’ll do what I can to keep it interesting around here.

Movies: In Theaters Now

A pair of winners.

The Hoax. Richard Gere gives great flop sweat as Clifford Irving, attempting to pass off a phony Howard Hughes autobiography as the genuine article. Fast-moving fun with a terrific cast. Additional weirdness points for having Julie Delpy play Irving’s mistress Nina Van Pallandt, who would become an actress and appear in American Gigolo opposite ... Richard Gere.

Random note: Every time a character hoisted a 1970s pull tab can, it almost knocked me out of the movie. “Look at the size of that! How did people drink out of those? What’s in that, Tab or Valvoline?” Some period details are too real to be real.

Black Book. In WWII Holland, a Jewish resistance fighter dyes her hair – all of it – blonde so she can start an affair with a Gestapo officer. Said Gestapo officer, played by The Lives of Others’ charismatic Sebastian Koch, is presented in something of a heroic light. The resistance fighters aren’t all good. And things get really bad once the war is over. I suppose I can see why some critics have called Paul Verhoeven’s drama ‘misguided.’

These critics are dead wrong. True, Black Book isn’t a serious exploration of the resistance like Melville’s Army of Shadows or Verhoeven’s own Soldier of Orange. It isn’t meant to be. It’s an engine of pure, delirious narrative. Epic romance, suspense, tragedy – everything you want is in this movie, and it never lets up. Carice van Houten is destined to be a huge star, which will only help her little brother Milhouse.

Random note: Black Book was part of a Saturday afternoon out. Matinee, book store, record store. All of them sparsely populated. Maybe everybody really does do everything via the Internet now. The people who were out could be split into two camps, hardcore obsessives and aimless drifters. Or, those who have nowhere else they’d rather be, and those who have nowhere else to go.

Miscellaneous: Next Caller, Please

I’ve foolishly ignored caller ID and am on the phone with a telemarketer pitching a dubious-sounding charity. But I’ve played this game many times before. I’m saying ‘no’ without providing reasons, leaving him no options. He started out asking for a hundred bucks and is now down to twenty-five.

Me: Sorry. Can’t do it.

Him: Can’t is a word of defeat. What do the last three letters of ‘American’ spell, my man?

I almost cracked. Almost.

Miscellaneous: Link

Terrence Rafferty on Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye, a movie that is in no way controversial in the mystery community.

Miscellaneous: Your Weekend Planner

Readers in the Los Angeles area are advised to head to the Egyptian Theater for the Eighth Annual Festival of Film Noir, mainly because I can’t. This year it’s L.A. versus NYC in a battle to crown the most noir city in America. Which is odd, because I know festival organizer Eddie Muller would nominate his home town of San Francisco for the honor.

If, like me, you won’t be in attendance, take heart. The divine Christa Faust has pledged to take in every double feature and will be reporting from the floor.

The last two episodes of the hilarious Andy Barker, P.I. will be airing Saturday night at 8PM, the timeslot known as television’s graveyard. Andy, we hardly knew ye. Where am I going to get my fill of Fidel Castro jokes now?

Book: The Wrecking Crew, by Donald Hamilton (1960)

After Donald Hamilton’s recent death, I said I’d read the other Matt Helm novel that I own. I’m a man of my word. Now my problem is that I don’t have another one waiting in the wings.

Crew, the second book in the series, takes place a year after the events of Death of a Citizen. Helm’s wife has left him, having discovered his past as a WWII government operative with a license – and a willingness – to kill. So Helm has accepted Mac’s offer of returning to service. His first assignment sends him to his (and Hamilton’s) ancestral homeland of Sweden. Helm is to smoke out a spy known as Caselius while masquerading as a photographer alongside a journalist who might be a double agent ... or Caselius herself.

Of all the book’s good qualities – the pacing, the sense of place – what struck me most was Hamilton’s coolly rational view of violence. Helm’s a bit rusty when it comes to dishing it out, and Mac cagily uses that fact to the mission’s advantage. Helm still has problems when it comes to women in pants, but each of the female characters is nicely nuanced. And Hamilton can always be counted on to deliver a sharp observation in his spare style:

I was told by my dad once that a man who tied his own ties was much more likely to be a gentleman than one who did not. Just what constitutes a gentleman in this day and age, the old man didn’t bother to say. To him, the distinction was clear. It must have been nice.

The 1969 movie “adaptation” has Helm (Dean Martin) chasing down thieves who have hijacked a train carrying a billion dollars in gold. It also features Chuck Norris.

Movies: Boston Blackie

What interested me most in Turner Classic Movies’ “Watching the Detectives” line-up last month was an evening of Boston Blackie movies. Actor Chester Morris starred in fourteen films as the gentleman thief turned crimefighter, loosely based on a character created by Jack Boyle. Clearly Blackie had been popular, yet now he was almost completely forgotten; the movies TCM was airing hadn’t been on TV in decades. I cherry-picked a few to record. Maybe I’d get lucky with a series character again the way I did with the Michael Shayne movies.

(I’m not the only one who was impressed with those films, by the way. Bruce Grossman at Bookgasm sings Lloyd Nolan’s praises. Hat tip to The Rap Sheet.)

I began at the beginning with 1941’s Meet Boston Blackie. It was written by Jay Dratler, whose work I’ve praised before. (I link to that post only so you’ll read the lovely comment it prompted.) This inaugural entry, in which Blackie stalks spies operating out of a beachfront carnival, establishes tropes that end up in every film. Devil-may-care Blackie is accused of a crime. The intrepid Inspector Farraday (Richard Lane) hounds his every move. He’s aided only by a beautiful woman and his pal the Runt, played in this outing by Charles Wagenheim and in later films by George E. Stone. Sadly, the problems that plague the series are also here. The plot breaks down about 25 minutes in, and the comic relief is neither comic nor a relief.

Morris is an interesting presence. He has the theatricality of Robert Preston combined with a hint of coldness; as a result, he’s completely plausible as a reformed criminal. In real life Morris dabbled in magic, which is often deployed to good use in the films.

Next I played the auteur game, recording the titles made by directors I’d heard of. Noir veteran Edward Dmytryk (Murder, My Sweet, Cornered, Crossfire) is behind the camera on the series’ second movie, Confessions of Boston Blackie. Our hero takes on a gang of murderous art forgers. Also written in part by Dratler, the movie makes even less sense than the previous one, with an ending that’s a complete mess.

Budd Boetticher – whose Randolph Scott westerns like Seven Men From Now and The Tall T are as tough and spare as movies get – was still billing himself as Oscar when he helmed 1944’s One Mysterious Night. Blackie is deputized by Farraday in order to track down a stolen diamond. Dorothy Malone (then Maloney) turns up in a small part and Morris makes some cunning use of disguises, but again the plot quickly becomes ridiculous.

What have we learned? Some things are forgotten because they deserve to be. Now if somebody wanted to update the character ... that’s another story.

TV: Entourage

Season 3B’s premiere included a shot of a massive banner that read, “Victoria’s Secret Wishes Vince A Very Sexy Birthday.” I would like it known that I will pay a king’s ransom for said banner.

Superagent Ari Gold trying to dissuade his once-and-future client from doing a period piece: “Do you know Edith Wharton? It’s always the same story. Guy can’t fuck the girl for five years ‘cause those were the times.” I’ve missed you, Ari.

Miscellaneous: Make Mine Music Link

Still on deadline, but I have to steer you toward this marvelous Washington Post article by Gene Weingarten. Take one of the world’s greatest classical musicians and a flawless instrument. Put them both in a D.C. subway station at rush hour. Watch what happens. Hat tip to Arts & Letters Daily.

Upcoming: El Aura (U.S. 2006)

Barreling toward a deadline means no new blog fodder for the weekend. Instead, here’s a heads up about an old favorite.

The best crime drama of 2006, not to mention one of the finest films of the year, comes to DVD on Tuesday. I speak of Argentina’s El Aura, or in English, The Aura. (Pretty good, huh? Never took Spanish. That’s just from watching soccer on Univision.)

Fabien Bielinsky’s haunting movie is about an epileptic taxidermist who accidentally gets the opportunity to live out his dream of pulling the perfect heist. To quote myself when I raved about it last November, “think of it as Richard Stark meets Oliver Sacks.”

Bielinsky died far too young last year, having made only this film and the marvelous con man caper Nine Queens. Both deserve your attention. I’m happy to do what I can to get El Aura’s cult following off the ground.

Movie: Johnny Cool (1963)

Sicilian bandit Henry Silva is “adopted” by an exiled Mafia kingpin, schooled in the ways of the Syndicate, then dispatched to America to wreak bloody vengeance.

The film, based on a Gold Medal paperback by John McPartland, perfectly captures the spirit of those pulp novels. It’s filled with hard men, harsh violence and wild passion, all of it capped by a truly twisted ending. What’s amazing is who’s behind the camera: William Asher, a veteran of I Love Lucy who would go on to direct several AIP beach party movies and almost a third of the episodes of Bewitched.

Silva has always been an odd actor, but here his stoic, implacable quality is a bonus; he’s essentially playing a zombie, doing another man’s bidding. Producer Peter Lawford found room in the movie for Rat Pack running buddies Joey Bishop and Sammy Davis, Jr., who’s great as an icy eyepatched gambler named “Educated.” Familiar faces stud the cast; satirist Mort Sahl even turns up as a casino boss! This must have been some hip ticket back in ’63, pally.

But the revelation is Elizabeth Montgomery as Dare Guiness. (What a name!) She simply nails the psychology of those mercurial good-time-girls who are drawn to bad boys. And she was never lovelier.

Bill Crider brought this movie and another fine McPartland adaptation, the 1957 suburban drama No Down Payment, to my attention. He observed that Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is a kind of unofficial Johnny Cool remake. I think he’s right.

Sammy Davis, Jr. also sings the movie’s theme, a Sammy Cahn/Jimmy Van Heusen classic that tells the story of Johnny Cool. It’s called “The Story of Johnny Cool.” After hearing this and Sammy’s rendition of “My Mother The Car,” it’s safe to say that no one sold a bad song like the Candyman.

Life’s Too Short: Marlowe (1969)

I recorded this adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s The Little Sister the same day as Johnny Cool and gave up after forty minutes. James Garner makes a fine Philip Marlowe, but the movie seems tired from the start. It’s bad enough to have Marlowe use gay panic to trick a thug into jumping off a building. But when said thug is played by Bruce Lee ...

Miscellaneous: Link

Grady Hendrix offers an inconvenient truth: authentic grind house theaters and movies sucked.

Movie: Dressed To Kill (1941)

You’d think four Michael Shayne movies in a row would be enough. But knowing that the third film in the series was already available on DVD meant that I had to track it down. My Shayne bender wasn’t over yet. Speaking of which, who played Shayne Bender? Wasn’t it Hugh O’Brian? No, wait, Hugh O’Brian was Brannigan. (Have you watched the Lookwell pilot I sent you to? These are the jokes, folks.)

Alas, Dressed to Kill is easily the least of the five Shayne films I’ve seen so far. The gumshoe’s all set to marry his girl (played by series regular Mary Beth Hughes) when he stumbles onto a gruesome double murder tied to a long-ago theatrical production. The plot, from the Richard Burke novel The Dead Take No Bows, is so thick that Lloyd Nolan gets little chance to demonstrate his charm. His few good lines and the presence of veteran actors William Demarest and Henry Daniell are all that recommend this one. And with that, I stop talking about Mike Shayne. Until Volume 2 of the collection comes out.

Miscellaneous: Links, All Queens N.Y. Edition

A last-minute deal keeps Major League Baseball’s out-of-market games on cable – and the Mets sweep the opening 3-game series against the defending world champion Cardinals in St. Louis, outscoring them 20-2. It’s going to be a good summer.

Spider-Man 3 is set to receive “the first-ever star-studded gala premiere in Queens” in the movie theater blocks from my childhood home. I knew Peter Parker growing up. A loner, kept to himself mostly.

Donald Hamilton, R.I.P.

I suppose it’s only fitting that I learned about the death of novelist Donald Hamilton at the Mystery*File blog. It was two articles that appeared in the magazine that convinced me to give his Matt Helm books a try. I still haven’t read The Wrecking Crew, but it’s close at hand and I’ll be diving into it soon enough. I worship Dean Martin, but the Helm movies are a caricature of what Hamilton accomplished on the page.

Some of my usual web haunts do a far better job of remembering the man. Steve Lewis looks back at The Ambushers and hints at the possibility of one last go-round for Helm. Plus more from Bill Crider and The Rap Sheet.

Upcoming: Art House Freak Outs!

I noted in my previous post that Alejandro Jodorowsky’s hallucinogenic western El Topo was almost impossible to see. Looks like I spoke too soon, because it’s scheduled for release on DVD next month. I assume a direct dial number to the closest mental health facility is among the bonus features.

WR: Mysteries of the Organism, the damnedest movie I’ve ever seen and the highlight of my “The Body In Film” class, will be getting the full Criterion treatment. I’m going to have to revisit this one.

Movie: The Lookout (2007)

Scott Frank gets my vote for America’s best contemporary screenwriter. Turns out he’s a fine director as well. Some guys have all the luck. The Lookout is a smart, taut, lived-in thriller. With roles in this film, Brick and the much-delayed Elmore Leonard adaptation Killshot, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is becoming this generation’s noir icon. Greencine has an interview with actor and director, as well as co-star Matthew Goode.

Movies: An F in Grindhouse 101

You bet I’m going to see Grindhouse. Just not right away. I want to let the fanboy stench dissipate a little first. Plus I’m leery of the idea of deliberately setting out to make what some would call “bad” movies. Plenty of “bad” movies happen all by themselves.

Lately, though, I’ve had a revelation. Perhaps I’m not grind house material.

Understand, I love my junk cinema. I’m the guy who recently binged on Coffin Joe movies. But when it comes to true grind house, I may be out of my depth.

Assemble a list of twenty movies of any stripe – neglected art house gems, say, or the best films with protagonists named Steve – and I will have seen at least seventeen of them. In many cases all twenty. No brag, just fact, to quote one of my former bosses quoting a TV series I’ve never seen.

At least it was fact until last week, when Entertainment Weekly cited 20 flicks that inspired Messrs. Tarantino & Rodriguez. (List not available online.)

I only notched ten. A meager half.

Here’s what I’ve seen and what I haven’t:

1. Escape from New York (1981). Yes. Repeatedly. I still do Lee Van Cleef’s awesomely callous move with his fingers when he tells Snake Plissken about the explosive charges in his neck.

2. Vanishing Point (1971). Yes. The best exponent of the Southwestern Existential Highway Movie. Examples of this genre that I don’t like include Two Lane Blacktop and Electra Glide In Blue. Blame a New York childhood’s general indifference to cars. I can sum up why I like it in three words: Barry f*cking Newman.

3. Mad Max (1979). Yes. The one title on this list I own on DVD.

4. A Fistful of Dollars (1964). Yes. The best movie on this list. In fact, I’m not sure it belongs here.

5. Dawn of the Dead (1978). Yes. Once. And I never forgot it.

6. The Warriors (1979). Yes. Many times. See earlier reference to New York childhood.

7. The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970). Yes. Not my first or my favorite Dario Argento movie.

8. The Street Fighter (1974). No. I’m woefully unschooled in Sonny Chiba.

9. Piranha (1978). Yes. Still hilarious – and scary.

10. Zombie (1979). No. I’ve never seen “the Cadillac of Italian zombie films,” in which a zombie battles a shark. I know at least one person I’ve just disappointed.

11. El Topo (1970). No. It’s almost impossible to see. I read about a guy who watched it while on acid in the ‘70s and had recurring nightmares about it decades later. Which I consider a ringing endorsement.

12. Maniac (1980). No. Haven’t seen it, and never will. Joe Spinnell’s psycho killer movie holds no interest for me.

13. Dolemite (1975). No. Rudy Ray Moore just performed in Seattle to mark his 80th birthday. Didn’t see that, either.

14. Raw Meat (1972). Yes. Cannibals in the subway. See earlier reference to New York childhood.

15. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974). No. But it’s been parked on my DVR for nine months, so I deserve partial credit.

16. Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965). Yes. Bored me stupid.

17. My Bloody Valentine (1981). No. Not a big slasher film fan.

18. Dr. Jekyll & Sister Hyde (1971). No – I think. I consumed Hammer horror films growing up, but don’t recall this one. And something tells me if I’d seen it, I would remember it.

19. The Big Bird Cage (1972). No. My women-in-prison background is very thin. Except for an incident in Juarez that I’m not prepared to discuss.

20. The Clones of Bruce Lee. That’s not a title, it’s a subgenre. And the answer is no.

It only gets worse. Cinematical offers a similar list. There, I’m 0-for-7. I hang my film buff’s head in shame.

Book: The Birthday Party, by Stanley N. Alpert (2007)

Alpert was an assistant U.S. attorney in New York City when, in 1998, he was abducted off the street by a trio of thugs. What was supposed to be a quick forced trip to the ATM became a 25-hour kidnapping ordeal. Although he was offered drugs and sexual favors once his abductors discovered it was his birthday.

The second section of Alpert’s memoir, recounting how his captors were caught, drags a bit. But his recreation of his own experience is riveting, and offers an object lesson in how to remain cool under pressure. Here are a few others things I learned:

1. Those oddball crime stories treated as curiosities by the news are significant events for those involved – and if they’re lucky, they won’t be defined by them.

2. There’s no point in waiting until your life is almost over to start living it. Or as Alpert puts it, order what you want when you want it.

3. Never wear a nice trench coat in Manhattan. You’re just asking for trouble.

Miscellaneous: Links

Turns out there’s still a grindhouse in New York and it’s in Queens, the borough of my birth. I used to go to some of the theaters mentioned in the article – before they went porn. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

While we’re in grindhouse mode, let’s hear from the Godfather of Gore himself, Herschell Gordon Lewis!

Seattle Weekly delves into the epic lawsuit between Harlan Ellison and Fantagraphics Books.

Bill Pronzini remembers novelist Elliott Chaze at the Mystery*File blog.

Book: The Spoiler, by Domenic Stansberry (1987)

Baseball season kicks off Sunday evening with the Mets and Cardinals in an NLCS rematch. That may be one of my few chances to catch the Amazin’s on TV, as it’s increasingly likely that MLB’s Extra Innings package won’t be on cable. (Senator John Kerry, you disappoint me again.) So it’s MLB.tv for me. Like I don’t spend enough hours in the day staring at my computer screen.

I warmed up for the season opener by reading this debut novel from Edgar-winner Domenic Stansberry. A reporter on the run from a failed marriage finds himself in a Massachusetts mill town with a struggling minor league team, a spate of arson fires, and some surprising connections between the two. It’s not just a good crime novel, it’s a good baseball novel, a good newspaper novel, a good small-town novel.

Get ready for the season yourself by singing along.

Movie: 300 (2007)

My take on the movie, mainly so I can link to some others: It’s kind of nuts. But the gonzo quality is part of writer/director Zack Snyder’s vision. I’m still not sold on the CGEverything™ concept, and there’s not much of a story. (In a nutshell, 300 Spartans hold off the Persian hordes – until they don’t.) But I wasn’t bored.

Here’s John Rogers on the movie’s screenwriting, Archeology Magazine on the historical perspective, and Michael at 2Blowhards on the critical hand-wringing the movie has spawned plus much more.

John P. Ryan, R.I.P.

The veteran character actor never had a breakout role but worked steadily, often with director Bob Rafelson. He’ll always be remembered around here for two performances: as the gangster with a soft spot for another man’s moll in Bound, and as a hard-ass prison warden in one of the great films of the 1980s, Runaway Train. No doubt he’s bellying up to the bar in tough guy heaven at this moment.

DVD: The Michael Shayne Collection, Volume 1

I watched all four movies in Fox’s new two-disc set in four days, popping them one after another like Raisinettes (or your candy of choice), so obviously I liked them. I don’t want my newfound affection for these films to lead me to overstate their quality or importance. But it’s worth pointing out that actor Lloyd Nolan had worn Mike Shayne’s fedora three times before Humphrey Bogart appeared as Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon. The 1940s was the decade of the hardboiled gumshoe, and Nolan’s Shayne was one of the first.

The movies are all solidly crafted entertainments, as you might expect from the B-movie unit at Fox responsible for the Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto series. They use the name of Brett Halliday’s character but little else; the cinematic Shayne is your basic wisecracking big-city P.I., although what big city changes from film to film. In fact, there’s no continuity between the movies other than a stable of actors who recur in different roles. (For a sense of Halliday’s Shayne, check out Thrilling Detective or Flagler Street. And many thanks to Steve Lewis at the Mystery*File blog for clearing up questions about source material and for backing me on some other points.)

As is often the case, the debut title in the series is the best. Michael Shayne, Private Detective (1940) is the only film based on a Halliday novel, 1939’s Dividend on Death. A wealthy client hires the shamus to baby-sit his daughter, a degenerate gambler running with a shady crowd. An early scene in which Shayne hustles the men sent to repo his office furniture not only demonstrates a refreshing honesty about the realities of a private eye’s life, but establishes Nolan’s sly take on the character.

The follow-up film Sleepers West (1941) prefigures the classic noir The Narrow Margin as Shayne escorts a witness (Mary Beth Hughes) to trial on a train while fending off those who want to silence her. The next Shayne outing, Dressed to Kill, isn’t in the collection but is available on an older DVD. Here’s hoping a restored version is in Volume 2.

Blue, White and Perfect (1941) may be my favorite of the bunch. Shayne’s fiancée (Hughes again) pressures him to leave the detective racket, so he hires on at an aviation plant only to wind up tangling with Axis spies. The movie boasts a nice turn by TV’s Superman George Reeves as the mysterious Juan Arturo O’Hara. With a moniker like that, you know he’s up to something.

1942’s silly The Man Who Wouldn’t Die strands Shayne in a haunted house caper, but Nolan’s insouciance and the presence of Shayne regulars Marjorie Weaver and Helene Reynolds keeps the action snappy.

Fox errs in the placement of the movies, pairing the first and last titles on one disc. But crisp digital transfers and useful extras more than make up for the oversight. A feature on Shayne’s long history includes comments from Otto Penzler, Stuart Kaminsky and Mary Dresser, the widow of Brett Halliday (Davis Dresser). There’s a gallery of covers by Robert McGinnis as well as an informative interview with the artist. My favorite line is when McGinnis says that the women in his paintings are “ladies at a higher level, yet still appealing and provocative.”

What registers most strongly in these films is Lloyd Nolan’s wonderful performance. He’s given only stage Irishness and a bit of business with a keychain to define Shayne, yet he inhabits the role completely. Concocting disguises that fool no one like a proto-Fletch, tossing off sharp lines, engaging in deft physical comedy while still coming across as a man who can handle himself, Nolan essentially creates the modern P.I. template out of whole cloth.

Rosemarie planned on watching only the first film with me, but was so taken by Nolan’s work that she stuck around for all four. As the last movie ended she said, “I finally realized who Lloyd reminds me of: Bugs Bunny.” Fast on his feet, forever in trouble but always coming out on top ... yeah, I can see it.

Book: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime, by Robert J. Randisi (2006)

You can have your rock’n’roll fantasy camps, your dude ranch getaways where grown men play cowboy, your baseball weekends where you take the field with the last of the Brooklyn Dodgers. My dream experience would require a wormhole. I want to be in Las Vegas in the early 1960s, when the Mob ran the town and the Rat Pack ruled the land.

So Robert Randisi’s latest novel is pure wish fulfillment. Eddie G is a Brooklyn CPA turned pit boss at the Sands. When Dean Martin starts receiving threatening letters on the set of Ocean’s Eleven, Frank Sinatra asks Eddie – as a personal favor – to get to the bottom of it.

All the boys – Sammy, Peter Lawford, Joey Bishop, even Henry Silva – are characters in this yarn, and Randisi nails ‘em all. He even captures behind the scenes figures like casino kingpin Jack Entratter. But above all, he brings the mood of that place and time to life: the booze, the broads, the hellzapoppin’ masculine energy, the devil-may-care attitude. I can’t actually wow a showgirl from the Sahara with tickets for Buddy Hackett and Patrice Munsel, so this book will have to do. I devoured it in one sitting, and can’t wait for the follow-up.

Miscellaneous Rat Pack Note #1: Henry Silva had one of his only cracks at a lead role in Johnny Cool, based on a Gold Medal paperback by John McPartland. No less an authority than Bill Crider has spoken highly of the film. Turner Classic Movies is scheduled to air it next Tuesday, March 27, at 6PM EST/3PM PST. My DVR is already set.

Miscellaneous Rat Pack Note #2: Through Rhapsody, I have discovered Sammy Davis Junior’s cover of the theme song to TV’s legendary flop My Mother The Car. I can’t stop listening to it.

On The Web: Mystery*File

Steve Lewis and I continue our conversation about Brett Halliday’s shamus Mike Shayne and his incarnations on screen and on the radio. Steve, ever diligent, has even included a 1948 episode of The New Adventures of Michael Shayne starring Jeff Chandler. It’s a blast. Give it a listen.

On The Web: Crimespace

I’ve hung out a shingle at Crimespace, the new social networking site dedicated to crime fiction. It’s the brainchild of writer Daniel Hatadi, who’s doing a bang-up job of running the place. It’s meant to be the online equivalent of the bar at a convention. Considering that I attended my first convention earlier this year and found the experience ... odd, maybe a virtual version is more my speed.

At such sites you’re faced with the eternal dilemma of making friends. At least, you’re supposed to be. You should see my MySpace page. My only friends are tumbleweeds. And Tom.

So I’ve established some hard and fast rules at Crimespace. I don’t want to go all Tila Tequila on the place. If I’ve read your books or your blog, you get a friend request. What the hell, right? It’s only the internet. Trust me, I’m a good guy to know. I don’t eat much and I tend to keep to myself.

Whereas if you send me a friend request, I’ll accept it even if I don’t know you from Adam or Eve. That’s just how I roll. Amigo de todos.

Miscellaneous: Links

One of the pluses of living in Seattle is proximity to the unassailable Zen cool of the Mariners’ Ichiro Suzuki. Turns out he’s also a talk show host. Here’s a clip of him playing a word association game with singer/musician Shiina Ringo. It’s in untranslated, unsubtitled Japanese and I don’t care. The man is that charismatic.

Speaking of baseball, I want this nonsense resolved in a hurry. I’ve got Mets games to watch next month.

I have a near-pathological dislike of National Public Radio. The sound of earnest vanilla voices backed by tastefully-selected world music makes me want to hurl in my eco-friendly tote bag. So I don’t know much about This American Life, the radio show. But if it’s going to have animated segments by Chris Ware, I may gave the TV edition on Showtime a shot.

Miscellaneous: Link

The AV Club lists 22 opening credit sequences that fit their shows perfectly. Points for acknowledging the cheestastic magnificence that is Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.

Of course, this is just an excuse to link to the opening of Jack of All Trades again. It doesn’t belong on the list because it was better than the show itself. But it’s still the greatest credit sequence ever. Watch and see.

Movie: Dead Heat on a Merry-Go-Round (1966)

James Coburn plans a heist to coincide with a visit by the Soviet premier in this caper film. There are plenty of slick bits as well as Harrison Ford’s first film appearance. But some aspects of Coburn’s scheme are needlessly complicated, while others aren’t explained at all. The twist ending is clever without being satisfying. On the whole, the movie is what we at Chez K call --

Hang on. I should explain first.

I used to work at a magazine. (Don’t worry. You’ve never heard of it.) Once, when the editor Bruce and I helped out a coworker, she rewarded us with two microwavable s’mores. You know how it gets around 3:30 – you’ll eat anything. Bruce and I decamped to the break room to heat those bad boys up.

The company’s microwave had seen better days. Many of them. Within seconds, it began spewing smoke and the odors of chocolate and burning graham cracker. All of which were then sucked into the ventilation system and pumped into every office.

Someone pulled the fire alarm. The building was evacuated. The fire department showed up. Excuses were made.

Later, Bruce and I retrieved our snacks. We hadn’t gone through all that trouble to go home hungry. Bruce took one bite of his s’more and said, “I don’t know. It’s a long way to go for a hot Mallomar.”

When Dead Heat ended, Rosemarie turned to me and said, “That movie was a hot Mallomar, wasn’t it?” And I said, “Yes, sweetie. That’s exactly what it was.”

OK, so maybe it’s not Hank Azaria’s “idiot ball.” But I like to think of the phrase as my personal contribution to the lexicon. Even if I’m not the one who said it.