Month / September 2005

by Edward Champion

Letter #2 from Donald Trump

To Mr. Reluctant:

Sir! It has been mere hours since I last sent you my all-important message. And you have not recognized the Power of Trump. When I say that I will destroy you, I mean business. Why have you not yet acknowledged the true evils of this world? Does your lack of response indicate that you side with the Mark Singers and the Jeff McGregors of this world? I am a man capable of accurately pinpointing manic depression after being interviewed for two hours by a New Yorker staffer. Understand that you are treading on dangerous ground.

As you sit there enjoying the comforts of your lower middle-class hovel, Reluctant, I am making precisely $2,425.37 for every breath of air I take in. Do the math. That’s a lot of revenue from inhaling alone. You should see what my ledger looks like any time I have blood work. It is frightening, Reluctant. It moves mountains. It is more income than you will ever see in a single month.

I will fly to you on my private jet, Mr. Reluctant. I will humiliate you on my television show, The Apprentice, and make you sorry that your momma ever popped you from her womb. I will use every resource at my disposal to articulate to you that you are clearly in the wrong and that your thoughts are without validity.

Mr. Reluctant, if that is indeed your real name, the New Yorker was saved only recently by blatant advertising — advertising that I helped to effect. David Remnick is a good man, one who has serviced me now for some years. Why are there no advertisements on this petty website of yours? Why aren’t you cashing in on this blogging trend?

I have read Dale Carnegie. I have read Lee Iacocca. I have read the masters that you deign to dismiss. Because of this, you will never find me without a clean pair of socks or enjoying a day without an expensive hot meal.

I hope, Mr. Reluctant, that you are wise enough to understand that, by joining me and allowing me to subsidize your editorial content, you are not selling out, but buying in. You too can have a Melania. (And no, her name is not pronounced like melanonin! That’s your problem, Reluctant. You continue to find humor in the strangest topics. Who do you think you are? A Merry Prankster? Yes, I have read Ken Kesey too!)

Why not have a hearty taste of my kind of America? Everybody else is.

Have your people call mine and take out a high-interest loan with my company.

DONALD TRUMP
New York

by Edward Champion

A Special Letter from Donald Trump

To the Editor of Return of the Reluctant:

I can remember the day when Marla told me, “Hey buddy, toupee or no toupee, it’s the size of your wallet that counts. No matter how ugly you get, I’ll still happily jump your bone.” Five minutes after she said this, I was on the phone with my attorneys about a prenup. But as we all know, somehow I messed it all up.

You might call me a heartless tycoon. But I’m smarter and better than you. Feelings are the stuff that I reserve for scoundrels named Mark Singer, whose liver I am now using to wipe the floor of one of my many apartments. Let that be a lesson to my critics.

I like to think that my heart of anthracite is an advantage. It keeps my ego in focus. There’s a big DT in my bathtub and a mirror above my bed so that I can get a nice view of Melania’s merkin. Can you say as much?

Whether you like it or not, facts are facts and hubris is hubris. And when it comes to contending with the real pests of our society — namely, beady-eyed freelancers skipping from gig to gig, I know how to sway my muscles.

Jeff McGregor will never be published in the New York Times Book Review again, nor anywhere else. He will work as a waiter for the rest of his life. Because I am Donald Trump and he is not. My terror is great and it has struck godless fear into Sam Tanenhaus’ soul. Your brownie watches, Mr. Reluctant — Mr. Champion, Mr. Segundo, whoever you are — no longer apply. Just before publishing my letter, I made sure that Mr. Tanenhaus’ hair would turn prematurely white. Let his consternation serve as a warning.

Do not dare to cross my path, for I am a human Katrina who sold off his sense of humor on eBay three years ago for the princely sum of $2.2 million. That’s what I call business.

DONALD TRUMP
New York

by Edward Champion

Tideland: Visionary Filmmaking or Just Plain Bad?

While Galleycat is quick to point to some of the book-to-film successes at the Toronto Film Festival, the literary adaptation that has us interested is Terry Gilliam’s adaptation of Mitch Cullin’s Tideland. Is this a comeback for Gilliam? Could it be that Gilliam has produced a film that is too sui generis? The early reports so far have been interesting:

  • Cinematical: “[W]hile I found the film extremely easy to follow, there are definitely some uneasy scenes. But the result is what I believe to be a wonderful film as told through the eyes of a little girl with such an overactive imagination she can get through situations of death, mental handicap, drug abuse and poverty without batting an eye. This young charismatic actress is amazing and carries the whole film.”
  • Screen Daily: “Tideland does look very beautiful, with Nicola Pecorini capturing some striking images of cornfields and countryside and the camera constantly prowling and tilting to emphasis the way reality has become skewered. The craftsmanship is small compensation in a film that is too often merely weird and uninvolving.”
  • Reuters: “Terry Gilliam’s ‘Tideland’ provoked some of the strongest negative reactions. Told from the surreal point of view of the daughter of two junkies, played by Jeff Bridges and Jennifer Tilly, it inspired some 30 walkouts halfway through a press and industry screening.”
  • The Boston Globe: “The movie’s a classic case of a gifted filmmaker’s obsessions finally sailing over the edge and taking him along, but as the prairie Candide at the movie’s center, 10-year-old Jodelle Ferland has a talent to make Fanning call her agent in alarm.”
  • Indiewire: “…big-ticket items like Cameron Crowe’s ‘Elizabethtown’ and Terry Gilliam’s ‘Tideland’ sank like lead balloons.”
by Edward Champion

Hiatus (Sorta)

We’ve been working our keisters off here. Two Segundo shows in the works (one we hope to get up tonight with a very special guest), with a third one on the way. So literary news and the like are going to be slow for the time being. Bear with us.

In the meantime, please enjoy:

  • Mark Sarvas talking with John Banville, Part I.
  • Bud Parr’s response to A.O. Scott’s NYT article comparing The Believer and n + 1.
  • Laura Miller’s humorless response to T.C. Boyle’s excellent new short story collection, Tooth and Claw. (Yes, Scott, I know, I told you it was “a mixed bag,” but that was on the basis of reading the first three stories, only one of which was so-so. Since then, the collection has picked up remarkably and I recommend it to all RotR readers looking to restore their faith in the short story, if not for the deliciously caustic finale of “Jubilation” and the near perfect “The Swift Passage of the Animals” alone, the latter being a witty depiction of dating loaded with nuance and quiet metaphors that are apparently quite invisible to Ms. Miller.)
  • Laila Lalami reviews Desertion in The Nation.