Since my New Year's Resolution is to blog more often, since the book I'm reading now will take some time to get through, and since I feel like blogging RIGHT NOW, I'm doing another one of these. The second installment in my series (as you may have guessed) is about E. Annie Proulx.
Most people know her from one of two of her works: the short story "Brokeback Mountain" or the novel The Shipping News. I actually didn't like the second much: I couldn't keep track of all the characters and their backstories, although I suspect that maybe it was me, since I can see how it's a good book. The first I loved so much that I refuse to see the movie. Not because I think they wrecked the story, but because I think society wrecked the humanity of it by making jokes about Brokeback this and Brokeback that. The story made me cry, and still does when I think about it. I mean, read it and imagine yourself as one of the main characters and see how much you feel like laughing then.
"Brokeback Mountain" was the story that got me interested in her. Since then, I've read both of her short story collections (I believe there's only two) and her newest novel, That Old Ace in the Hole, as well as The Shipping News. Ace in the Hole was pretty good, but I prefer her short story collections in general. She's a writer of the West the way someone like Willie Morris or Harper Lee was a writer of the South. When you read her short stories, you feel like you're there. You understand the place, and the people, and their relationship. But like them, she doesn't glamorize. A short story like "What Kind of Furniture Would Jesus Pick?", about a beleaguered rancher, will have you suffering sympathetic symptoms of stress. You just want to reach into the story and hand that guy some money to help him fix the impossible situation that he's in: he can't sell his ranch, but he can't keep it running either, he's too old and broken-down to start over and none of his family understands any of this. Even stories that are less about the land still have a lot of the West in them.
Annie Proulx's fiction offers to me exactly what many readers seek: a chance to step outside myself and my own environment in a way that even taking a vacation wouldn't allow me. Reading these stories shows me a different way of life through the eyes of one who's living it and that's "why I love her".
Friday, January 4, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Extremely Great and Incredibly Worth the Wait
During my summer of good books two and a half years ago, one of my friend Sophie's favorite authors was Jonathan Safran Foer, although at the time he'd only written one book, Everything is Illuminated. But she loved him, and used to occasionally refer to him as "her boyfriend". She encouraged me to read Everything is Illuminated, and I got it once, but didn't read it. I even got the movie once and didn't watch it. After reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, though, I'll make a point of getting back to it.
This is one of the best books I've read in a while. A lot of the stuff, and certainly most of the fiction, I've been blogging about lately is more fun than anything else. This book has a great sense of fun, but is also fairly ambitious. To peg it as a September 11th novel or as a World War II novel is unfair, although both events play significant roles in the book. So I'll say it's the story of Oskar Schell.
Oskar is a really, really terrific kid. He's nine years old, smart and funny and very passionate about the world. He can be summed up pretty well by the business card he gives out, which reads:
"Oskar Schell: Inventor, Jewelry Designer, Jewelry Fabricator, Amateur Entomologist, Francophile, Vegan, Origamist, Pacifist, Percussionist, Amateur Astronomer, COmputer Consultant, Amateur Archaeologist, Collector of: rare coins, butterflies that died natural deaths, miniature cacti, Beatles memorabilia, semiprecious stones and other things E-mail: Oskar_Schell@hotmail.com, Home phone: private / Cell phone: private, Fax Machine: I don't have a fax yet."
I bet you wish you could spent 300-odd pages with someone like that, too. In this book, Oskar is on a quest, a difficult and important one. His father, with whom he was very close, died on September 11th. He was in the World Trade Center for a meeting and didn't make it out. Oskar's dad was the best dad Oskar could ever have, and Foer is a clever enough writer to show us this rather than tell us, through Oskar's remembrances of the complicated games the two of them shared and the imaginative stories his dad would tell him. Oskar is hanging out in his dad's closet one day, and finds a blue vase containing an envelope, marked "Black", with a key inside. He sets out to discover what this key opens, what he didn't know about his dad. On the advice of a woman at the art store (who notes both the capitalization of the word and the fact that it was written in red ink), he sets out to meet everyone in New York with the surname of Black and to figure out which one his father knew, and what the key opens.
This is one of the most delectable parts of the book. He meets a lot of fascinating people. Elderly Georgia Black has a museum of her husband in her living room, and is delighted to have Oskar visit it. She tells him no one has been to see her in more than a year, and spends a lot of time showing him her husband's baby shoes, his golf clubs, their wedding album, etc. Her husband surprises us (and Oskar) by emerging from the next room and inviting them in to see his museum of her. He meets the recently divorced, shut-ins and widows. He meets a man with a newborn baby and asks if he could pet it. He writes to a convicted murderer. He makes close friends with a former war correspondant. Everyone has a story to tell. Some of them even come to his school play, Hamlet (he plays Yorick).
The other half of the story is told by Oskar's grandparents, who survived World War II and the Dresden bombing and have their own story of loss and redemption to tell. I found myself more captivated by Oskar, although their story was very moving and interesting. Safran Foer plays some games with the text too: sometimes it's strung out, a whole portion of it is covered in red editorial marks, there are photos and drawings to the extent where I imagine his conversations with the editors: "On pages 50-75, I want all those marks to be printed, I didn't send you an early draft by mistake."
It's a beautiful book. It's ambitious, but doesn't try too hard. Nor do you get the sense that Safran Foer is exploiting September 11 in any way. By taking it back down to an individual level, he actually manages to get a fresh approach on a subject that has been dissected relentlessly since it happened. You'll enjoy Oskar, and all of the people that he meets, you'll come to miss his dad too. Ultimately, it's a hopeful and optimistic book, not so much about death as about life. You'll probably cry (and you should be smarter than me, and not bring it to a mechanic's waiting room, especially when you're almost done with it), but you'll come away from it feeling better about the world and all the interesting people it contains.
This is one of the best books I've read in a while. A lot of the stuff, and certainly most of the fiction, I've been blogging about lately is more fun than anything else. This book has a great sense of fun, but is also fairly ambitious. To peg it as a September 11th novel or as a World War II novel is unfair, although both events play significant roles in the book. So I'll say it's the story of Oskar Schell.
Oskar is a really, really terrific kid. He's nine years old, smart and funny and very passionate about the world. He can be summed up pretty well by the business card he gives out, which reads:
"Oskar Schell: Inventor, Jewelry Designer, Jewelry Fabricator, Amateur Entomologist, Francophile, Vegan, Origamist, Pacifist, Percussionist, Amateur Astronomer, COmputer Consultant, Amateur Archaeologist, Collector of: rare coins, butterflies that died natural deaths, miniature cacti, Beatles memorabilia, semiprecious stones and other things E-mail: Oskar_Schell@hotmail.com, Home phone: private / Cell phone: private, Fax Machine: I don't have a fax yet."
I bet you wish you could spent 300-odd pages with someone like that, too. In this book, Oskar is on a quest, a difficult and important one. His father, with whom he was very close, died on September 11th. He was in the World Trade Center for a meeting and didn't make it out. Oskar's dad was the best dad Oskar could ever have, and Foer is a clever enough writer to show us this rather than tell us, through Oskar's remembrances of the complicated games the two of them shared and the imaginative stories his dad would tell him. Oskar is hanging out in his dad's closet one day, and finds a blue vase containing an envelope, marked "Black", with a key inside. He sets out to discover what this key opens, what he didn't know about his dad. On the advice of a woman at the art store (who notes both the capitalization of the word and the fact that it was written in red ink), he sets out to meet everyone in New York with the surname of Black and to figure out which one his father knew, and what the key opens.
This is one of the most delectable parts of the book. He meets a lot of fascinating people. Elderly Georgia Black has a museum of her husband in her living room, and is delighted to have Oskar visit it. She tells him no one has been to see her in more than a year, and spends a lot of time showing him her husband's baby shoes, his golf clubs, their wedding album, etc. Her husband surprises us (and Oskar) by emerging from the next room and inviting them in to see his museum of her. He meets the recently divorced, shut-ins and widows. He meets a man with a newborn baby and asks if he could pet it. He writes to a convicted murderer. He makes close friends with a former war correspondant. Everyone has a story to tell. Some of them even come to his school play, Hamlet (he plays Yorick).
The other half of the story is told by Oskar's grandparents, who survived World War II and the Dresden bombing and have their own story of loss and redemption to tell. I found myself more captivated by Oskar, although their story was very moving and interesting. Safran Foer plays some games with the text too: sometimes it's strung out, a whole portion of it is covered in red editorial marks, there are photos and drawings to the extent where I imagine his conversations with the editors: "On pages 50-75, I want all those marks to be printed, I didn't send you an early draft by mistake."
It's a beautiful book. It's ambitious, but doesn't try too hard. Nor do you get the sense that Safran Foer is exploiting September 11 in any way. By taking it back down to an individual level, he actually manages to get a fresh approach on a subject that has been dissected relentlessly since it happened. You'll enjoy Oskar, and all of the people that he meets, you'll come to miss his dad too. Ultimately, it's a hopeful and optimistic book, not so much about death as about life. You'll probably cry (and you should be smarter than me, and not bring it to a mechanic's waiting room, especially when you're almost done with it), but you'll come away from it feeling better about the world and all the interesting people it contains.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Another clever book from George Saunders
I've been a fan of George Saunders for about seven years now, ever since I purchased the Best American Short Stories of 1999 and read "Winky", shortly after "The Barber's Unhappiness" appeared in The New Yorker. I bought both of his story collections, was pleased when he began to get tapped regularly for The New Yorker's "Shouts and Murmurs" section, and FINALLY got to read his In Persuasion Nation last week.
I don't know what to think of it. I was a little disappointed to see that I'd read most of those stories before, in different forms. I was further disappointed to dislike many of the new ones. The title story, especially, was too long, and too precious. It's about characters in commercials who have a lot of harm inflicted upon them in selling the product and rise up against their oppressors within the ads (think of the Mucinex guys, repeatedly chased out of their comfy homes). It was intentionally choppily written, but at some points that just becomes annoying to me and kind of detracts from the message.
I think that's the overall problem with many of the stories in the book. In his earlier books, he made excellent points, but the stories had a lot of heart and humanity. I was really moved by the dilemma of Neil in "Winky." I felt sad that the barber was never going to find his way out of his own unhappiness because of his inability to love any woman the way she was and his own overinflated sense of self-worth. A few of these stories did that: "Jon", "CommComm" and "My Flamboyant Grandson" in particular captured the humanity of people living in an inhumane and absurd society, sometimes exaggerated from our own, sometimes not. But a lot of them were just trying to make various points about materialism/consumerism, entertainment and corporate control. Don't get me wrong, they did, and I'm sure a lot of people loved this book, but I miss the heart. I understand he has a book either out now or imminent, and I'll look forward to that one too.
I don't know what to think of it. I was a little disappointed to see that I'd read most of those stories before, in different forms. I was further disappointed to dislike many of the new ones. The title story, especially, was too long, and too precious. It's about characters in commercials who have a lot of harm inflicted upon them in selling the product and rise up against their oppressors within the ads (think of the Mucinex guys, repeatedly chased out of their comfy homes). It was intentionally choppily written, but at some points that just becomes annoying to me and kind of detracts from the message.
I think that's the overall problem with many of the stories in the book. In his earlier books, he made excellent points, but the stories had a lot of heart and humanity. I was really moved by the dilemma of Neil in "Winky." I felt sad that the barber was never going to find his way out of his own unhappiness because of his inability to love any woman the way she was and his own overinflated sense of self-worth. A few of these stories did that: "Jon", "CommComm" and "My Flamboyant Grandson" in particular captured the humanity of people living in an inhumane and absurd society, sometimes exaggerated from our own, sometimes not. But a lot of them were just trying to make various points about materialism/consumerism, entertainment and corporate control. Don't get me wrong, they did, and I'm sure a lot of people loved this book, but I miss the heart. I understand he has a book either out now or imminent, and I'll look forward to that one too.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Jasper Fforde's Deep Well of Cleverness
Jasper Fforde isn't the first to think of putting well-known fictional characters into different, incongruous circumstances. Whether it's the graphic artists responsible for the original League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, or Baz Luhrman, the director of the 1996 modern Romeo and Juliet starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Clare danes in the title roles, sometimes you just meet a character too good to pass up.
It's a lot harder to give the same treatment to nursery rhymes, though. Someone like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations is a fully-formed character who passes the Perkins test (you'd recognize her on the street and know how to react). How would you characterize Mary Mary Quite Contrary, though? She's a good gardener, sure, but is she young? old? nice? unpleasant? funny? smart? With most of the nursery rhymes, there's nothing to go on, but in his Nursery Crimes series, Jasper Fforde manages to make much out of them.
The two stars of the book are Jack Spratt and his partner, Mary Mary, who together make up the Nursery Crimes Investigator unit (NCI). In The Fourth Bear, they are investigating the disappearance of Golidlocks. They deal with many peripheral distractions, such as the escape of the notorious, merciless serial killer the Gingerbreadman, and the mystery of Jack's used car, recently purchased from Dorian Gray's Used Automobiles which never shows any damage no matter what you do to it (I laughed at that device for about ten minutes). The convoluted plot also involves explosions, cucumbers and dates with aliens. It was quite good, but I wonder if Jasper Fforde hasn't decided to retire the Nursery Crimes series. The Fourth Bear is a couple of years old now, and the ending features a wrap-up of what happened to all the characters. I like the Thursday Next books better, but I'd forgotten how funny the Nursery Crimes were.
It's a lot harder to give the same treatment to nursery rhymes, though. Someone like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations is a fully-formed character who passes the Perkins test (you'd recognize her on the street and know how to react). How would you characterize Mary Mary Quite Contrary, though? She's a good gardener, sure, but is she young? old? nice? unpleasant? funny? smart? With most of the nursery rhymes, there's nothing to go on, but in his Nursery Crimes series, Jasper Fforde manages to make much out of them.
The two stars of the book are Jack Spratt and his partner, Mary Mary, who together make up the Nursery Crimes Investigator unit (NCI). In The Fourth Bear, they are investigating the disappearance of Golidlocks. They deal with many peripheral distractions, such as the escape of the notorious, merciless serial killer the Gingerbreadman, and the mystery of Jack's used car, recently purchased from Dorian Gray's Used Automobiles which never shows any damage no matter what you do to it (I laughed at that device for about ten minutes). The convoluted plot also involves explosions, cucumbers and dates with aliens. It was quite good, but I wonder if Jasper Fforde hasn't decided to retire the Nursery Crimes series. The Fourth Bear is a couple of years old now, and the ending features a wrap-up of what happened to all the characters. I like the Thursday Next books better, but I'd forgotten how funny the Nursery Crimes were.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Inspiration?
Danielle Ganek's Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him was one of those books that I'd been noticing in bookstores for a while now. It came home with me from my last trip to the library, and I don't really know what to say about it.
Readers of this blog will know that's unusual for me. After spending a few days with a book, I can usually form some kind of opinion. Generally, they'll make me laugh, or make me think differently about something. Sometimes, they'll make me wonder what the point was, and on one memorable occasion, they'll be so bloody awful that even nine months after I finished it, I still blog about it once a month (Citizen Girl anyone?). I can usually at least say that I considered the book either a fun way to pass some time or a colossal waste of time and paper.
Lulu, however, didn't really spark any of these feelings in me. I've put off writing about it for a while because of that. I can't even really say that it was boring or unmemorable. I remember it, all right: narrated by "gallerina" and aspiring artist Mia McMurray, it is the tale of how the attempt to acquire a painting (the title of the book) by an artist who was hit by a car and killed the night of his opening affects all of those involved. The niece of the deceased painter and several well-known collectors all attempt to stake their claim. In the midst of all this are pretentious gallery owners (like Mia's boss), Mia's snotty fellow gallerinas, a sexy art dealer, and a sexy but rough Irish artist. Mia speaks as your guide through this universe, a docent perhaps, encouraging you to notice this and observe that. The chapter headings are clever, generally phrased as invitations ("Please Come For March Book Club at the home of Mrs. Martin Better"). And Mia herself is likeable enough.
So what's missing? I still don't know. I'm not even sure if it's missing from the book, or missing from me. But even after a week's worth of thought, I can still state definitively that I have no opinion about Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him. I can't even peg it as typical chick lit, because it's really not. So if anyone out there has read it and has any thoughts, I hope you post them. I'd be interested to hear them. I can't conjure up a one.
Readers of this blog will know that's unusual for me. After spending a few days with a book, I can usually form some kind of opinion. Generally, they'll make me laugh, or make me think differently about something. Sometimes, they'll make me wonder what the point was, and on one memorable occasion, they'll be so bloody awful that even nine months after I finished it, I still blog about it once a month (Citizen Girl anyone?). I can usually at least say that I considered the book either a fun way to pass some time or a colossal waste of time and paper.
Lulu, however, didn't really spark any of these feelings in me. I've put off writing about it for a while because of that. I can't even really say that it was boring or unmemorable. I remember it, all right: narrated by "gallerina" and aspiring artist Mia McMurray, it is the tale of how the attempt to acquire a painting (the title of the book) by an artist who was hit by a car and killed the night of his opening affects all of those involved. The niece of the deceased painter and several well-known collectors all attempt to stake their claim. In the midst of all this are pretentious gallery owners (like Mia's boss), Mia's snotty fellow gallerinas, a sexy art dealer, and a sexy but rough Irish artist. Mia speaks as your guide through this universe, a docent perhaps, encouraging you to notice this and observe that. The chapter headings are clever, generally phrased as invitations ("Please Come For March Book Club at the home of Mrs. Martin Better"). And Mia herself is likeable enough.
So what's missing? I still don't know. I'm not even sure if it's missing from the book, or missing from me. But even after a week's worth of thought, I can still state definitively that I have no opinion about Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him. I can't even peg it as typical chick lit, because it's really not. So if anyone out there has read it and has any thoughts, I hope you post them. I'd be interested to hear them. I can't conjure up a one.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Further Misadventures of Stephanie Plum
I've never been big into mysteries, or serials, but several years ago, I started reading the Stephanie Plum books by Janet Evanovich and got hooked.
Unlike most mysteries, these are pretty safe to read even in the scariest of circumstances. Along with your flashlight, blanket and bottle of water, you can pack one confidently on your next overnight trip alone to the abandoned house near the graveyard where the triple murder was committed on Halloween night. The biggest danger is that the ghost of the murderer will find you by following the sound of your laughter.
Stephanie Plum is not your stereotypical bounty hunter. She got into the business after being laid off from the lingerie company where she worked. Unable to find a job in her field, she did what any self-respecting Jersey girl would do: she blackmailed her cousin into hiring her at his bail bonds agency. Her co-workers are Lula, former 'ho and current filing clerk; Connie, the office manager/Mafia liason; and Ranger, the ultra-macho, super-sexy, super-scary bounty hunter entrusted with bringing in the most high-bond cases. Stephanie covers the small-time criminals, and something always goes wrong during apprehension. One guy saw her coming, took off all of his clothes and slathered himself in baby oil. Another guy, an amateur taxidermist, denotes an exploding beaver bomb on her, covering her in hair and guts. Even the willing ones are funny: one woman looked forward to her time in jail, explaining that she'd needed some dental work done for a while now.
The main attraction of the books is Stephanie's tangled personal life. Over the course of the series, two men have been vying for her attention: Ranger, mentioned above, and Joe Morelli, a police officer, onetime ladies' man, and Stephanie's high school sweetheart. Stephanie also has to contend with her gossip-fearing mother ("Erna Malecki's daughter has never burned down a funeral home"), her crazy grandmother (her main hobby is attending viewings, and she doesn't let a closed casket deter her), and her father. Her sister made an appearance in the last few books, but is absent from the newest one, Lean Mean Thirteen.
The plot of these books has always been somewhat incidental to me. I come for Stephanie and her hilarious life. These books will never be mistaken for War and Peace, that's true. But they're a fun read, especially for this time of year when your relaxation time is short.
Unlike most mysteries, these are pretty safe to read even in the scariest of circumstances. Along with your flashlight, blanket and bottle of water, you can pack one confidently on your next overnight trip alone to the abandoned house near the graveyard where the triple murder was committed on Halloween night. The biggest danger is that the ghost of the murderer will find you by following the sound of your laughter.
Stephanie Plum is not your stereotypical bounty hunter. She got into the business after being laid off from the lingerie company where she worked. Unable to find a job in her field, she did what any self-respecting Jersey girl would do: she blackmailed her cousin into hiring her at his bail bonds agency. Her co-workers are Lula, former 'ho and current filing clerk; Connie, the office manager/Mafia liason; and Ranger, the ultra-macho, super-sexy, super-scary bounty hunter entrusted with bringing in the most high-bond cases. Stephanie covers the small-time criminals, and something always goes wrong during apprehension. One guy saw her coming, took off all of his clothes and slathered himself in baby oil. Another guy, an amateur taxidermist, denotes an exploding beaver bomb on her, covering her in hair and guts. Even the willing ones are funny: one woman looked forward to her time in jail, explaining that she'd needed some dental work done for a while now.
The main attraction of the books is Stephanie's tangled personal life. Over the course of the series, two men have been vying for her attention: Ranger, mentioned above, and Joe Morelli, a police officer, onetime ladies' man, and Stephanie's high school sweetheart. Stephanie also has to contend with her gossip-fearing mother ("Erna Malecki's daughter has never burned down a funeral home"), her crazy grandmother (her main hobby is attending viewings, and she doesn't let a closed casket deter her), and her father. Her sister made an appearance in the last few books, but is absent from the newest one, Lean Mean Thirteen.
The plot of these books has always been somewhat incidental to me. I come for Stephanie and her hilarious life. These books will never be mistaken for War and Peace, that's true. But they're a fun read, especially for this time of year when your relaxation time is short.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Suckiest Bunch of Sucks that ever Sucked
I try not to do too much stuff just because someone on Craigslist says to. But someone on Craigslist recommended the book The Devil's Candy by Julie Salamon. I went for it, and ended a very pleasureable week with it last night.
As I read the book, I wondered, what makes a work of nonfiction interesting? On the same library trip, I checked out a biography of Sir Thomas Mallory, author of Le Morte D'Arthur. I read the book in college and enjoyed it greatly, and was interested to know more about the author's life. I figured that since I'd been very interested in Arthurian legend, and liked European history, I'd like the book. Hated it. Abandoned after about 40 pages. This book, on the other hand, is about the making of a movie I didn't see and only dimly remember, based on a book I haven't read. And it held my attention all the way through. I was actually sorry when it ended.
The book is about the making of the 1990 movie "The Bonfire of the Vanities," starring Tom Hanks, Melanie Griffith and Bruce Willis and directed by Brian De Palma. Unlike the movie, however, hundreds of other people have major roles in the book. Ann Roth, the wardrobe designer. Eric Schwab, the second unit director, responsible for the scenes in the movie that establish mood. Lucy Fisher, Rob Friedman, and other execs at Warner Brothers. Aimee Morris and the other production assistants. Salamon thoughtfully provides a list of players before her tale even opens, which I found myself referring back to frequently.
Salamon keeps the book interesting by putting real characters into it. As she follows Eric Schwab out onto the airport runway in pursuit of the most spectacular plane landing scene he could film, she also follows the thoughts in his head: his burning ambition, his desire for recognition, his dreams of doing his own picture, so that you see why it matters. You get invested in everyone's petty triumphs and setbacks in the course of making the film. You're happy for Aimee Morris, who earns a promotion from production assistant to Brian De Palma's personal assistant. You cheer for Schwab when he gets his shot and wins a $100 bet with De Palma that he could never film a plane landing innovative enough to make the final cut of the movie. You feel De Palma's frustration at not being able to find the courtroom he needs for the movie's pivotal scene. And you're pissed at the studio for shutting down the New York production and moving it to Los Angeles where they had more control. Yet, when you hear the decision from their angle, it makes sense too.
This book is a good look at how movies are actually made. If you've ever wondered just what a grip does, or what exactly is the responsibility of the production designer, this book will explain it better than any of those "Who Does What in the Movies" types of books. It explores the millions of decisions that have to be made on every single shot (day or night? how many people in the background? what kind of weather? what will the hair look like? makeup? clothing? how about on the background people?). You can see where $40 million dollars could go. You may even be amazed that it's not a whole lot more.
Bonfire flopped. I'm not ruining the ending by telling you that, even if you don't remember on your own. The title of the last chapter is "You've gotta be a genius to make a movie this bad", and you can feel the book building towards a less-than-satisfactory finished product. The book made me want to see for myself, so I rented the movie the other night. I fell asleep before the end, but I didn't like it much. I thought Tom Hanks was a total nonentity in his role. He was supposed to be a shallow, venal bond trader and philanderer. He came off like a stick of vanilla. The movie was slow-moving, but funny at parts. And yet, I could see its potential. Eric Schwab's opening skyline shot from the Chrysler Building was breathtaking, as was his sunset Concorde landing. I liked the way the trading room floor was shot, with the distortion around the edges, and the deal scene shot from overhead ("from the perspective of a true Master of the Universe.") It was a good bad movie.
It was hard to tell the true moral of this story. The problems with the film didn't seem to be easy to lay at the feet of any one individual. It was more like a stacking effect. And maybe also bad timing: the book was supposed to be the definitive 80s satire, and yet the movie came out as that era was ending. It was too early to be a period piece, too late to feel contemporary. Salamon alluded to problems with adaptation, as well: how the book had an edginess that would be difficult to translate to the big screen. Tom Wolfe had minimal involvement in the film project, and once it was released, stayed diplomatic. Maybe involving the author more would've saved it.
Or maybe not. This movie should've been a winner, packed with big-name actors, based on a best-selling novel, with an excellent director. They tested it several times and re-edited based on the results, and it still flopped, grossing only 15.4 million over 45 days. I came to appreciate what a tricky business it is to forecast what people will like. Even with all of Hollywood's research methods, they still get it wrong -- frequently. Not true for Salamon. She wrote an excellent book about moviemaking, and I recommend it. I don't know how much of it still holds true, but I'd love to see her write another similar book if she hasn't already, now that it's been nearly 20 years.
As I read the book, I wondered, what makes a work of nonfiction interesting? On the same library trip, I checked out a biography of Sir Thomas Mallory, author of Le Morte D'Arthur. I read the book in college and enjoyed it greatly, and was interested to know more about the author's life. I figured that since I'd been very interested in Arthurian legend, and liked European history, I'd like the book. Hated it. Abandoned after about 40 pages. This book, on the other hand, is about the making of a movie I didn't see and only dimly remember, based on a book I haven't read. And it held my attention all the way through. I was actually sorry when it ended.
The book is about the making of the 1990 movie "The Bonfire of the Vanities," starring Tom Hanks, Melanie Griffith and Bruce Willis and directed by Brian De Palma. Unlike the movie, however, hundreds of other people have major roles in the book. Ann Roth, the wardrobe designer. Eric Schwab, the second unit director, responsible for the scenes in the movie that establish mood. Lucy Fisher, Rob Friedman, and other execs at Warner Brothers. Aimee Morris and the other production assistants. Salamon thoughtfully provides a list of players before her tale even opens, which I found myself referring back to frequently.
Salamon keeps the book interesting by putting real characters into it. As she follows Eric Schwab out onto the airport runway in pursuit of the most spectacular plane landing scene he could film, she also follows the thoughts in his head: his burning ambition, his desire for recognition, his dreams of doing his own picture, so that you see why it matters. You get invested in everyone's petty triumphs and setbacks in the course of making the film. You're happy for Aimee Morris, who earns a promotion from production assistant to Brian De Palma's personal assistant. You cheer for Schwab when he gets his shot and wins a $100 bet with De Palma that he could never film a plane landing innovative enough to make the final cut of the movie. You feel De Palma's frustration at not being able to find the courtroom he needs for the movie's pivotal scene. And you're pissed at the studio for shutting down the New York production and moving it to Los Angeles where they had more control. Yet, when you hear the decision from their angle, it makes sense too.
This book is a good look at how movies are actually made. If you've ever wondered just what a grip does, or what exactly is the responsibility of the production designer, this book will explain it better than any of those "Who Does What in the Movies" types of books. It explores the millions of decisions that have to be made on every single shot (day or night? how many people in the background? what kind of weather? what will the hair look like? makeup? clothing? how about on the background people?). You can see where $40 million dollars could go. You may even be amazed that it's not a whole lot more.
Bonfire flopped. I'm not ruining the ending by telling you that, even if you don't remember on your own. The title of the last chapter is "You've gotta be a genius to make a movie this bad", and you can feel the book building towards a less-than-satisfactory finished product. The book made me want to see for myself, so I rented the movie the other night. I fell asleep before the end, but I didn't like it much. I thought Tom Hanks was a total nonentity in his role. He was supposed to be a shallow, venal bond trader and philanderer. He came off like a stick of vanilla. The movie was slow-moving, but funny at parts. And yet, I could see its potential. Eric Schwab's opening skyline shot from the Chrysler Building was breathtaking, as was his sunset Concorde landing. I liked the way the trading room floor was shot, with the distortion around the edges, and the deal scene shot from overhead ("from the perspective of a true Master of the Universe.") It was a good bad movie.
It was hard to tell the true moral of this story. The problems with the film didn't seem to be easy to lay at the feet of any one individual. It was more like a stacking effect. And maybe also bad timing: the book was supposed to be the definitive 80s satire, and yet the movie came out as that era was ending. It was too early to be a period piece, too late to feel contemporary. Salamon alluded to problems with adaptation, as well: how the book had an edginess that would be difficult to translate to the big screen. Tom Wolfe had minimal involvement in the film project, and once it was released, stayed diplomatic. Maybe involving the author more would've saved it.
Or maybe not. This movie should've been a winner, packed with big-name actors, based on a best-selling novel, with an excellent director. They tested it several times and re-edited based on the results, and it still flopped, grossing only 15.4 million over 45 days. I came to appreciate what a tricky business it is to forecast what people will like. Even with all of Hollywood's research methods, they still get it wrong -- frequently. Not true for Salamon. She wrote an excellent book about moviemaking, and I recommend it. I don't know how much of it still holds true, but I'd love to see her write another similar book if she hasn't already, now that it's been nearly 20 years.
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