How did I not know about the Body Heat: Deluxe Edition DVD? This great Lawrence Kasdan film pretty much galvanized noir into cinematic action over the past twenty-five years, paving the way for Blade Runner, John Dahl’s fantastic pre-Unforgettable films and Curtis Hanson’s understated offerings (of which I would include The Bedroom Window, which manages to work despite the dreaded Steve Guttenberg presence). I’m not sure, however, if so-called “neo-noir” is really all it’s cracked up to be, particularly when you consider this dubious list. Good noir has a hard edge, rooted in an existential dilemma with the clock ticking. This quality is particularly absent in such pedestrian films as Training Day, Road to Perdition, and Reindeer Games. Kasdan reminded us noir’s dynamo with Body Heat, but it’s too bad many of his followers have been more interested in the lowest common denominator than entertainments which emphasized the human condition. (And as a side note, after seeing Babel last week, maybe I’m alone on this, but I think Alejandro González Iñárritu could direct a great noir if he wanted to. His films have both the darkness, the acting, and the structural heft that good noir often requires.)
Note to news outlets: the OJ story is dead dead dead. Please stop reporting on this for the benefit of the humanities.
Eat me, Tim Toulmin. Do you really want to turn blogs into lifeless husks? Blogging shakes people up in ways that are currently prohibitive to newspapers. What you call inaccurate, I call satire. And I trust readers to separate what are clear satirical fabrications from genuine news. Because I respect their intelligence. Prohibiting persistent pursuit? It is often the inexorable quest for a story that has a journalist, print or online, unearthing the truth. I don’t entirely disagree with Toulmin’s principles (particularly in relation to children and victims of sexual assault), but I have a fundamental problem with Toulmin’s assumption that blogging is newspaper journalism. Sometimes, it is. Sometimes, it isn’t. But I cannot subscribe to any uniform code that severely misunderstands the blogging medium.
I’m sorry, but 1,500 words is not a novel. And what kind of life experience does a six year old have? Until this kid coughs up a gripping 75,000 word mystery about an icky girl trying to spread cooties to first graders, I remain unimpressed.
Over at Bookslut, Raina Bloom tallies up the Notable Books figures. No surprise. A sizable portion have written for the Times. The Times does not regret the error.
I have lost faith in The Bat Sex Award. What were the judges thinking putting David Mitchell on the longlist? The whole point of the passage in question is to chronicle a twelve year old boy’s unfamiliarity with sex in an awkward manner. Go after the real literary criminals, such as the preposterous sex contained within Jay McInerney’s The Good Life.
I believe Lev Grossman may be the first critic to compare Infinite Jest with Dickens. (If I’m mistaken, please let me know.) Unfortunately, Grossman’s interesting observation is cut short by the ridiculous limitations of the 600 word review. I’m thinking Grossman should get a blog. (via Jeff)
Sean Cooper believes that HD-DVD and Blu-Ray are DOA. Me? I’m waiting for this rerun of the VHS vs. Betamax war to play out. I’m also waiting for HDTVs to be affordable. I’m also waiting for the television that I’ve owned for eight years or so (which I rarely turn on) on to crap out. Oh, hell, who needs these toys when you’ve got books?
Methinks Bookninja doth protest too much. George, these are great titles! I publicly call for a Canadian-American literary exchange by post, in an effort to further tranquility between our two nations.
E.L. Doctorow: “I do no research beforehand. I start writing and find what I need as I go along. You will find very few inaccuracies, if any, in my account of Sherman’s campaign. I always hew to the truth, though in some matters my truth may not be yours because a novel is, among other things, an aesthetic system of opinions.”
Mark Winegardner begs his readers not to pigeonhole him. Dude, you’re the one who picked up the check to write these Godfather books. Not once, but multiple times.
I can’t believe that I’m in the position of defending both Sam Tanenhaus and Franklin Foer for this review, but since Mr. Hogan has taken them both to task, I should note that, in all fairness to Foer, he probably turned in his review of the Woodward book well before Rummy resigned. Of course, with Tanenhaus timing this review to appear after last week’s elections, presumably with the assumption that the Republicans would win, demonstrates how untimely delay can sometimes be a book review editor’s folly.
The Washington Post‘s Bob Thompson talks with Philip Roth as the third Library of America volume of Roth’s complete works hits bookstores.
Largehearted Boy observes that this week marks the release of the great Joanna Newsom’s new album. And he says that it’s become his favorite album of the year.
Instead of reading the rambling nonsense (apparently, a “review” of Lisey’s Story) that appeared in this week’s NYTBR, King fans might want to check out this King interview, in which he discusses what frightens him.
The Simpsons Movie trailer. Yawn. Watching The Simpsons intermittently over the past several years has been a bit like watching a once robust American Cream Draft limp around the racetrack, when it really needs to be shot and put out of its misery.
The New Atlantic Independent Booksellers Association is trying to sex things up. They’ve opted for a new title for their trade show. But it isn’t Indie Booksellers Unite for Good Merlot. It isn’t Booksellers for a Better Tomorrow. It isn’t the Indie Booksellers Plot for World Domination Conference. Instead, it’s the pedestrian “The Booksellers Sales Conference,” which sounds about as inviting as eight hours of watching Powerpoint presentations. Come on, NAIBA! You can do better!
Time‘s Richard Lacayo talks with Gore Vidal. His response to gay marriage: “Since heterosexual marriage is such a disaster, why on earth would anybody want to imitate it?”
Richard Pachter: “It’s not enough to write a great book. Authors are now expected to play an active role in book marketing and promotion. In this brave new world of always-on media, scribes are expected to pursue or make themselves available to every potential reader.” Come on, Pachter. Do you really want to raise Updike’s blood pressure?
James Ellroy, as every literary person knows, is insane. In fact, he’s so insane that a bestselling novelist, who wasn’t exactly the beacon of mental health himself, once told me that he was frightened of him. But the publicist who got Ellroy into the same room as Deborah Solomon is brilliant.
Mr. Dan Wickett, the indefatigable man behind Emerging Writers Network, has launched Dzanc Books with a certain Steve Gillis. But now he has first title: a short story collection called Roy Kesey’s All Over, which will be published in October 2007. I’m definitely looking forward to reading this.
If you need a little funny before tomorrow’s elections, which seem to be stressing me out as I prepare for the possibility of two more years of total Republican control, look no further than Buster Keaton’s “One Week,” featuring perhaps the best policeman kick in cinematic history (just after the famous motorcycle gag).
The ULA now has a book review blog. I was going to dismiss it, but any book review site passionate about Upton Sinclair can’t be all bad.
If you’re in Los Angeles, the world’s biggest Richard Ford fan, Tod Goldberg, will be interviewing Ford on Wednesday night. This is the guy who not only drove 300 miles to see Ford, but who left his sick-as-a-dog S.O. to do it. That’s hardcore. I mean. That’s hardcore. Hell, even I wouldn’t do that. So you can imagine that this will be a particularly exuberant conversation.
The first ten minutes of the absolutely terrible Chevy Chase Show. How bad is it? Well, within the first minute, he talks in a high-pitched voice and sets up a puking joke. While he is introduced, he shoots hoops as if going through a midlife crisis. Train wreck television history.