(In theaters, July 2000) The type of perfectly adequate film that is neither too impressive nor too awful to talk about. Woody Allen plays his umpteenth neurotic character, the first act is the funniest, the ending isn’t all that good, it’s more of a smiling comedy than a laughing comedy.
(In theaters, July 2000) If ever there was a genre which deserved its satiric roasting, it’s the late-nineties “teen slasher horror” craze, which -for all its hip self-awareness- wasn’t all that much better than its early-eighties predecessors. Scary Movie takes up the task with gusto, and despite an annoying intrusion of gross-out comedy, the film is oodles better than most satiric comedies have been in years. The script is filled with genuinely funny material, and most parodies are on-target. I’d have cut about five minutes of unnecessary vulgar material (which gets old real quickly, and ends up annoying rather than amusing), but the rest works well. Wait for the TV network version.
(Second Viewing, October 2021) After the past few years’ Friday the 13th and Halloween end-of-October horror marathons, I thought I’d do something lighter and have a second look at the five Scary Movie comedies back-to-back. Revisiting them twenty years later is bound to be strange—as parodies, they reference pieces of pop culture that are no longer particularly current—I may remember them, but ever-so-faintly. Blending Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer (the first one is still a reference, the second one not so much), the script goes in full spoof mode with re-creations going into jokes, background gags (alas, not enough of them) and references that don’t always make sense. The lack of fluidity of the result is more apparent, as is the way some material is jammed in the film without grace. Written and directed by the Wayan Brothers, Scary Movie does not play in subtlety—while it occasionally remains funny, it lacks trust in the audience’s ability to grasp the jokes quickly. If you belong to the school of thought that comedy is surprise, nothing kills a gag faster than having it being so drawn out that you can see it coming. And while it may be strange to complain about the violence and sexual content in an R-rated spoof on R-rated horror films, there are definitely a few instances where the film is more gross than funny, the dial having been set just a bit too high for comfort. While never tasteful, some of the material (about gay or trans characters, in particular) now feels even more dubious. Still, compared to many later spoof comedies (and in particular the repellent Freidman/Seitzer “spoofs” of the 2000s, their credits here as writers heralding the worst) Scary Movie is actually not too bad—it has low but sufficient production values, a script that tells a story, and jokes that don’t stop at being mere recreations. I smiled a few times, maybe even chuckled more often than I expected going in. It’s interesting to see, twenty years later, what happened to the cast: Anna Faris (as a brunette?!?) did well for herself as a comedian, while Regina Hall achieved some dramatic respectability later on. Lochlyn Munroe never quite had the career anticipated for him, although he’s working steadily on lower-budget productions—which is more that can be said for much of the cast. While I had my doubts about the value of revisiting the Scary Movie series, I’m now set straight: It’s not a wise project, but will have its moments. Although I dread that Scary Movie 2 is up next—I recall it as being the worst of the bunch.
(In theaters, July 2000) Upon reading Sebastian Junger’s non-fiction book The Perfect Storm, my first reaction was that it would make a spectacular movie, but probably not a very good one: The historical facts -if played straight- were ill-fitted to a dramatic arc, and carried a definitely anti-happy-ending resonance. Fortunately, director Wolfgang Petersen was able not only to keep the film reasonably faithful to the book, but also to deliver a film that will satisfy most audiences. The first forty minutes of the film, with its land-based action meant to introduce the characters and set up the relevant elements of the plot, are definitely its weakest: The audience is there to see the storm, not some fishermen with clichéd dialogue. But pay attention, as the characters will give meaning to the upcoming mayhem. After the storm starts, you can only sit back and go Wow, because you’re going to see some of the most awe-inspiring storm footage ever computer-generated. This is the point where you realize you should see this film on the biggest screen you can. By this time, the lousy dialogue and jerky character development doesn’t really matter. We’re in ride-movie territory, and as far as those go, The Perfect Storm is better than most. Even the ending, which I was apprehending, felt right. Maybe not a perfect film, but a darn good roller-coaster with some depth.
![Pâfekuto burû [Perfect Blue] (1997)](https://www.christian-sauve.com/wp-content/uploads//perfect-blue-1997-200x300.jpg)
(In theaters, July 2000) Japanese animated film about an actress whose entourage gradually gets killed by some mysterious entity. Putrid rotoscoped animation is compensated, somewhat, by a down-to-earth adult subject matter (so much that it’s unclear why this was done as animation) and gripping plot. The film occasionally gets too twisty for its own good and probably doesn’t make sense even after the last revelations, but it’s worth watching. Needless to say, this is not for kids.
Tor, 1999, 470 pages, C$8.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-812-57537-7
As I accumulate my SF reading and develop more sophisticated tastes in my entertainment choices, I have inevitably progressed past certain things. Star Trek adventures now simply bore me, given that they exhibit none of the intellectual inventiveness, mental challenges and new characters that, to me, have come to represent the best that science-fiction has to offer. The same can be said about scores of run-of-the-mill action/adventure novels, where the thriller mechanics aren’t really enhanced by the science-fiction setting. Especially when it’s “average” SF and/or the thriller plot is more boring than thrilling.
Don’t read in the above read what I didn’t say: I can always appreciate a good thriller or an unassuming action/adventure SF novel when they have something special, but it takes more than just labeling a tired chase scenario with lasers and robots to make it interesting.
In this perspective, Nocturne for a Dangerous Man is a half-success. On one hand it’s a complex thriller with decent SF elements. On the other, it’s an overlong bore with nothing really new to say and a paternalistic tone in which to say it.
It’s typical of the book’s murky impression that the plot can be stated in several fashions. At first glance, it would appear to be a straightforward story where an ultra-competent mercenary protagonist is hired to rescue a damsel in distress. On closer inspection, it’s far more complex than that: The protagonist has to chase down several leads, complete sub-objectives in order to further his mission and contact dozens of past acquaintances to get more information. But look closer, and you’ll find that the kinks of the narrative threads untie themselves to form a single, continuous simple story: That of an ultra-competent mercenary protagonist hired to rescue a damsel in distress.
In other words, this is a book that ends exactly where you’d think at first, which is to say pretty much like the (great) cover illustration, in which a rugged-looking man hangs on to a helicopter rope ladder with one hand and a beautiful woman in the other while in the background, a cruise ship explodes. For readers, the journey is the goal, not the ending.
All fine and well; like most Hollywood movie, it’s not uncommon to enjoy a routine plot executed supremely well. But Nocturne for a Dangerous Man isn’t so successful.
Many difficulties stem from the protagonist’s narration. Just like in most of Robert Heinlein’s best novels, Nocturne for a Dangerous Man is narrated by an astonishingly competent renaissance man, a protagonist trained in the military arts, fluent in dozens of languages, superb cook, expert lover and most probably multiple-PhD-holder for all we know. Needless to say, such characters quickly approach self-parody, a trap that Matz doesn’t entirely avoid here. Just like Robert Heinlein’s worst novels, however, the narration quickly becomes paternalistic, almost as if anyone not knowing a dozen languages, half a dozen fighting techniques, culinary and amorous arts can’t possibly be adequate enough to read the book. This snobbishness tends to grate and grate greatly.
Adding to the problem is a structure that drags on, and on, and on… The best hard-boiled novels (which Nocturne for a Dangerous Man is obviously trying to imitate) were those which didn’t multiply endless empty complications. (Have you ever read about a glib private eye?) But Matz, for whatever reasons, seems to delight in demonstrating his intelligence to us, which comes out as a net waste of time.
Too bad, because with some drastic editing, Nocturne for a Dangerous Man would have been a fast-paced, entertaining read. Matz shows a good grasp of SF world-building and the details -plentiful as they are- remain interesting. Despite everything, I’ll take a look at his next novel.
(In theaters, July 2000) The impossible has happened: Emmerich and Devlin -the team behind such stinkers as Stargate, Independence Day and Godzilla– have finally produced a good film. A really good film. Sure, Mel Gibson’s done pretty much all of this before in Braveheart and the film is peppered with occasionally dumb scenes. (Cinepop-quiz: At which point will the little “mute” girl will start to talk? What will she say?) But on the other hand, this is a straightforward war adventure with a decent script, a likeable protagonist, some tension and clear direction. Cultural anthropologists and war buffs will revel in the representation of classical 18th-century European warfare (lines of soldiers advance, shoot, reload. All very civilized) While some liberties have been taken with historical facts, the film feels very convincing in details and atmosphere. Finally, a summer epic that does not disappoint!
(Second viewing, On DVD, September 2001) This film definitely appreciates with a second viewing. You come to expect the mawkish emotional scenes (“Daddy! I can talk at dramatic junctures of the plot!”) and gloss over them to focus on the wonderful re-creation of the American Revolution. The script, aside from the cheap occasional sentimentalism, isn’t half-bad and the directing is quite good. Who would have thought the one who brought us Stargate, Independence Day and Godzilla could pull it off? The DVD contains a few extras that won’t work on my cheap player, and a moderately interesting commentary track by the directors. The Patriot finally plays like the grand historical epic it’s supposed to be: A good film!
(On VHS, July 2000) New York City folks (suitably haughty Tim Allen and Kirstie Alley) get stuck in Amish backwoods, laugh at the country folks but ultimately learn better. Some of the humor at the expense of the Amish verges on unpleasantness, but as expected, everything gets set straight before the end credits roll. If this didn’t come from Disney, it should have. An unmemorable, predictable film, good to pass time, but with a high enough budget that it can’t pass as “a little-known gem”.
(In theaters, July 2000) Obviously adapted from a theatrical play (as given away by the one-room setting), this film is more of actor’s showcase than a satisfying movie experience. Kevin Spacey, Danny DeVito and Peter Facinelli all provide great performances, and the dialogue is good enough to tear into. The first act is the best, with the Spacey’s unrepentantly cynical character dominating the film and the mordant dialogue. After that, the film gets preachy and self-important and loses a lot of its appeal. The conclusion is unsatisfying in that “and they he learned an important life lesson despite it being unpleasant” type of fashion.
Hyperion, 1997, 237 pages, C$30.95 hc, ISBN 0-7868-6351-X
It’s easy to be a fan of “The Drew Carey Show”: As a sitcom, it offers a self-depreciating hero with which it’s easy to sympathize, an interesting cast of wacky characters, often clever humor and fairly good writing. Pay closer attention and you’ll find that “The Drew Carey Show” is a rarity in the sitcom world in that it frequently takes chances in telling stories in an off-beat way. They don’t always succeed, but it’s usually good fun to see a sitcom takes chances and depart somewhat from the usual format.
“The Drew Carey Show” made a star out of its lead man, Drew Carey, and it was only a matter of time until spinoffs came out. Given that Dilbert already occupies most of the market for nerdish office humor, Carey decided to bring the same spirit of innovation to his money-grubbing techniques that he does with the TV show, and the result is of interest to anyone looking for a good laugh or two.
As Carey explains in his introduction to Dirty Jokes and Beer, he originally wanted to publish a few short stories he had written. But his fans wanted a book about the TV show and his publishers wanted another one of those “comic guy makes funny observations about everyday life” book. To make everyone happy, Dirty Jokes and Beer contains all three of these things.
Which means there’s something here for everyone.
With an extra helping of explicit language.
Even though I gather that Drew-Carey-the-stand-up-comedian uses liberal amounts of foul language, fans of Drew-Carey-the-sitcom-star might not know otherwise. This book will be an eye-opener. To his credit, Carey doesn’t use gratuitously explicit language and makes it clear from the onset that this isn’t a family-oriented book. As he states in the introduction, “I only left [the nasty words] in because I didn’t think that the things I’d written would be as funny without them.” [P.xv] This is refreshingly in-your-face comedy, as honest as it is politically incorrect. Onward.
The first part of the book (“Dirty Jokes”) is the “funny observations about everyday life” section. Here, Carey gets to vent about big-screen TVs, how to pick up chicks, presidents, health fads and a heck of a lot of beer. Non-politically-correct observations, of course: Avoid reading if easily offended (but then again, why would have you bought a book called Dirty Jokes and Beer?) Funny stuff. Fans of Carey-the-standup-comedian will probably like this section.
The second part (“Beer”) is for the other type of Carey fans, given that it directly concerns his life and/or TV show. What’s Mimi like (and other Frequently Asked Questions), reviews of the early criticism, in-house script notes (a real treasure, if you know about the sitcom business), Drew’s unhappy childhood (not a fun moment) and “Hard Copy” appearances, not to mention the dynamics of tabloid popularity. Not always funny, but invariably interesting. Pictures of Drew’s life are included.
The real surprise comes with “Stories of the Unrefined”, the third and last part of the book. Here, Carey present five short stories to the world, and worries about the effect they’ll have on his reputation. He shouldn’t: The stories are decently written, and pack up decent entertainment in their short length. They’re funny, but in a darker, more adult way than the rest of the jokes in the book. In any case, they’re worth reading.
The end result, for both readers and Carey, is good entertainment. As with most books in the “comedy” section, this one can be read in a short time, and re-read frequently. Carey fans (both kinds) will find something to like here, and non-fans might even learn to like the guy.
Baen, 2000, 288 pages, C$9.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-671-57846-4
The rabid patriotism of Americans will never cease to amaze, especially when considered in the context of Science-Fiction stories. You would think that a genre so concerned with change and other global -nay, universal- issues would realize that simple patriotism is a self-limiting expression that ultimately belittle all achievements from outside one’s country. But a quick glance at such rah-rah-rah works like INDEPENDENCE DAY… well, point is made.
Among SF publishers, Baen has always been regarded at the stronghold of a certain type of ultra-patriotic, libertarian thinking that simply exists nowhere else in the world. Eagle Against the Stars, from simply the title itself, would appear to be a work that plays strongly in this vein. Even the cover blurb might turn off some people with statements such as
“America was enjoying victory … that’s why the aliens chose it to use as puppet in dominating the planet. We were already set up to do it; now we would do it for them. […] But the Lokaron were going to lesson from their victims, a lesson they weren’t going to like one bit”
By this point, Baen probably lost a few sales from people repelled by this rhetoric. Fortunately (or not, for those who bought the book for this reason), Eagle Against the Stars isn’t as much about Americans-against-aliens as you’d think. True to SF form, the aliens aren’t as eeevil as you might think, and the rebel Americans aren’t as virtuous as the protagonist thinks they are.
If books were evaluated on solely the basis of overturned assumptions, Eagle Against the Stars would rate highly. Unfortunately, details like sustained plotting, good characters and unobtrusive didactism also come into play, and Eagle Against the Stars fares less well in these areas. Too bad, because the novel otherwise demonstrates a good setup, an adequate grasp of SF elements -including overturning some of the most unlikely assumptions of lesser SF- and a writing style that shows promise despite a certain lack of interest. It’s not that it’s bad, but that it’s padded and slow, slow, slow…
Surprisingly, what interest there is in the story comes from the not-so-hidden political agenda of the author and his pointed barb against (all together now:) environmentalists, socialists and communists. Arrr, those damn liberals! Always meddling with the good old libertarians! Never mind that it’s hard to believe that all independent spirit could be sucked out of the United States in a single generation… that was probably caused by the alien mind rays. (Liberals and aliens? Egawd!)
Fans of political SF might enjoy this novel, but other readers will be disappointed, for despite White’s depth of historical sources and writing abilities, he doesn’t deliver much more than a standard adventure-with-twists that we’ve seen so many times before. James Clavell turned out Shogun when he tackled cultural clash between civilizations of different technological levels, but White isn’t Clavell nor -from the book- is he interested in becoming one.
But then again, this is a Baen book, which for all their good fun isn’t exactly known as a reservoir of thoughtful SF. Though they are known as publishers of good action/adventure, and Eagle Against the Stars isn’t too good at that either.
A quick final word on the cover illustration: Not only is it rather tacky to cover a large part of the illustration with blue foil, but the alien’s elongated chin is simply too funny for words. What is it with prominent chins that instills amusement? Will we ever know? Does Jay Leno have an opinion?
Pocket, 1992, 469 pages, C$6.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-671-71591-7
An interesting trend in turn-of-the-millennium genre fiction is the fusion of different literary tools and assumptions to produce a result that isn’t quite one thing or another. Suddenly, dragons are over New York, being battled by alien-technology stealth bombers and causing a vampire to fall in love with a policewoman. Some readers love fusion, some can’t stand it.
One particularly popular type of fusion literature is steampunk, in which -roughly- contemporary SF elements are transplanted in Victorian England. Steam-driven spaceships are equipped with computers driven by pulley and lever, Jack the Ripper meets Sherlock Holmes, Queen Victoria makes a cameo appearance and there are enough in-jokes to satisfy anyone with even a cursory knowledge of the time.
Anno Dracula (perhaps the precursor of the fusion trend, dating back from 1992) goes beyond what eventually became the clichés of steampunk. Here, Kim Newman assumes that everything that happened in Bram Stoker’s Dracula was true, with one important difference; Vlad Tepes escaped the final showdown and using his aristocratic credentials, eventually married Queen Victoria. The England of Anno Dracula is now populated with a new nobility of vampires, with their assorted entourage dominating the country. But then, someone starts killing vampire prostitutes in Whitechapel…
In almost any way you choose to look at it, Anno Dracula is an exceptional book. The alternate history drawn by Newman is somewhat plausible (which is to say, as plausible as a vampire-drived story can be), fascinating and rather frightening. The details are well-positioned to give maximum depth to the story and wink at the knowledgeable reader. Jack the Ripper co-exists with Doctor Jeckyl, Mycroft Holmes, Queen Victoria, Bram Stoker and Van Helsing…
But it takes more than a neat steampunk universe to make a good book (witness Colin Greenland’s Harm’s Way) and fortunately, Newman also scores high on the more usual fictional standards. Anno Dracula is driven by unusually interesting characters, from a shadowy British special agent to a Vampire eldress to a genial newspaper reporter to an ambitious newly-vampirized doctor. Newman, despite setting his tale in Victoria England, wisely resists fluffing up his writing style, and Anno Dracula remains compulsively readable all the way through. The memorable conclusion is lavishly built-up and quite satisfying, finding victory where one wouldn’t expect.
Two sequels have been published to date (The Bloody Red Baron and Judgement of Tears) and if it is doubtful that they will be as enjoyable -most of the fun of Anno Dracula is in discovering the alternate history-, they certainly deserve a read based only on the first volume.
It’s worth noting that the enjoyment one will get from Anno Dracula is proportional to one’s existing knowledge of literary genre, Victorian England and vampire novels. Anno Dracula is akin to a graduate-level read in that it can be enjoyed by anyone, but contains so many references to other sources that readers with extra cultural baggage will get so much more out of it. A cursory knowledge of Stoker’s Dracula alone -if only from the movie version-, helps tremendously.
Fusing horror elements with SF world-building and a mystery structure, Kim Newman has achieved more than the simple addition of elements and produced a novel far above the rest of what one would usually find on the “horror” bookshelf. Anno Dracula simply has too much ambition beyond the simple scare to avoid being labelled a darn good book. Fascinating experiment, great entertainment or best-of-breed genre novel, it’s hard to overstate how Anno Dracula is so successful on so many levels. One of the best vampire books to date. Strongly recommended, for a wide array of readers.
Tor, 1999, 208 pages, C$32.95 hc, ISBN 0-312-86857-X
Those poor, poor SF authors.
Earning a living -in any discipline- takes a lot of hard work. In the SF field, it takes more than that: dedication, creativity and a sense of how to please a crowd.
And the SF crowd is one of the worst there is. It’s not enough to give them an interesting concept wrapped in a good story. No, they ask for memorable characters, clear writing, snappy dialogue and good value for their money.
As a result, current SF authors have to uphold the professionalism developed in the fields ever since the pulp era. SF, like it or not, has become a small professional industry, and as with any pop culture product, readers can be expected to demand more for their entertainment dollars.
In most ways, Robert Charles Wilson’s Bios is a fine piece of Science-Fiction. The premise itself is intriguing: In a future where interstellar space travel is hideously expensive, humans have found one planet with a full biological ecology: Isis. The only problem; Isis’s natural ecosystem is “spectacularly toxic” to Earth life. “The entire planet is a permanent Level Four hot zone” promises the cover blurb.
Fun stuff, especially given Wilson’s initial premise. Bios‘s protagonist, Zoe Fisher, is sent on one of those all-too-expensive trips to Isis, where she is to undergo testing as a human built to be resistant to the hostile biosphere. Meanwhile, scientists stationed on and above Isis begin to see increasing levels of viral outbreaks inside “safe” areas. Something is happening, and it doesn’t promise anything good.
All throughout, Wilson builds his imagined future with an admirable economy. In a short time, he establishes the future dystopia that is Bios‘s universe, what with its new aristocracy, its pitiless corporations/political parties and overall aura of nastiness. This is the first time that one of Robert Charles Wilson’s novels explicitly takes place in an appreciably distant future, (he’s previously meddled a lot with alternate universes or futuristic element in contemporary settings) and he’s up to the difficult task of world-building with an assured professionalism.
His writing is also clear and to the point. Bios can be read compulsively, with its short length and dynamic storytelling. There is a memorable outbreak scene halfway through the book, and the final pages also pack a lot of interesting material. Few novel from Wilson are obscurely written up to the point of being uninteresting (Gypsies being the only notable exception) and Bios is even more engaging than its predecessors.
But, as his previous novel Darwinia suffered from a rather spectacular structural failure, Bios‘s considerable strengths must be tempered with significant warnings. The premise outlined above might lead readers to imagine a certain plot. Unfortunately, that is pretty much exactly what you get, especially if you’re familiar with the sense of doomed gloominess present in some of Wilson’s work.
To this predictability, let’s also be crassly commercial and point out that Bios‘s snappiness and readability is matched by its slim physical size: at barely more than 200 pages, Bios is almost half the length of today’s average SF novel. (But, at $32.95 Can, still fully the price of today’s SF novel) This is no breakneck densely-textured novel like Ian MacLeod or Greg Egan’s usual output: Once you start looking at the story with the assumption that this is a padded novella, yes, extrataneous parts seem to rise out of the novel. Unfortunately, there is as of now no market for SF novellas. Was Bios padded from a story too long to be novella and too short to be a satisfying novel? That’s a question to ask Robert Charles Wilson at the next SF convention.
[August 2000: I did, and he graciously answered that Bios, from the start, was planned as a novel, “though it ended a bit short.” (He also rightly pointed out that it would have been a perfect length twenty, thirty years ago)]
In the meantime, Bios remains a worthwhile read, but not a worthwhile buy. Consider a paperback purchase if you’re a confirmed fan (keeping in mind that Wilson tries new things here, and succeeds), or else head for your local library.
Ballantine, 1993, 397 pages, C$8.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-345-36663-8
At the time, it almost seemed too good to be true. A few months after the fall of the Soviet empire, a border skirmish between two middle-eastern countries quickly escalates in an armed war in which new alliances are formed, new technology is used and old dirty tricks surface anew under different guises. The Gulf crisis of late 1990/early 1991 wasn’t the first war to be televised, but it is -so far- the most entertaining, ending with a big happy ending. Footnote: Total war-related deaths for the Allied side were lower than handgun-related deaths on American soil during the same period.
Ask any North American who lived through the events, and they’ll tell you that the war was almost fun; that the picture painted by the media began with extreme danger and ended in total victory. America booted out the old ghosts of Vietnam and assumed its role as unique global superpower.
As expected, guilt came in ringing a few moments later. Gulf War revisionism reviewed the war and declared it bad. It was a ploy to re-establish George Bush’s manhood. It was a media-manipulated skirmish transformed into a global engagement that wasn’t. The poor Iraquis didn’t deserve to lose. Kuwait didn’t deserved to be freed. And so on and so forth.
Larry Beinhart’s novel American Hero is an integral part of the rich-boy soul-searching done by American after the Gulf War. It pushes the most somber conclusions of the revisionists (and their associated conspiracy theorist) to their logical extreme: The Gulf War was manufactured by George Bush -along with the Hollywood movie industry- to ensure his re-election.
And the word “manufactured” isn’t used here in a cynical fashion: The most interesting parts of Beinhart’s book are those in which a crazy memo is given to a top-notch Hollywood director, who uses a film archive to literally design “the perfect war”, which will be as victorious as it will be an emotionally satisfying experience.
Unfortunately, to get to these parts, you’ll have to wade through the increasingly uninteresting tale of Joe Broz, a security agent who gets caught up in the whole mess. Not only does this subplot actually is supposed to be the core of the novel, but it is far less dense -not to mention unoriginal- that the actual making of the war. Notice that when American Hero was adapted for the big screen -as the celebrated WAG THE DOG-, they wisely concentrated the whole action around the war-makers. (They also cleverly neutered the “breathtakingly nasty” [says Kirkus] satiric edge of the novel by inventing a fictional war rather than naming names and citing historical facts.) By the time Broz is hunted down by government agents who will kill him to keep the secret, it’s no use; we’ve see all of this before in countless conspiracy thrillers.
The other flaw of the book is to depart from a comic premise and treat it as a rather dry conspiracy theory. Granted, the 120-odd footnotes are fun reading and thought-provoking, but look closer and you’ll be able to poke holes in Beinhart’s argumentation that this is All True. (Not the least of which might have been “If Bush really wanted to win the election, why didn’t he wait until 1992 to start the war and ride the victory in presidential elections??”) The last section, explicitly titled “Conspiracy”, smacks of desperation. Someone phone up Beinhart and tell him that heavy-handed satire is self-defeating. (If you really want a conspiracy, ask yourself why a smart, but unpopular, mystery author would suddenly decide to jump on the conspiracist bandwagon… hmmm…) But that’s just the anti-conspiracy-theorist speaking. Feel free to ignore.
In any case, American Hero is worth a look, if only for the hilarious acid portrait of Bush, the White House and Hollywood.
And who knows? Like most conspiracies, the Gulf War almost makes more sense that way.
Bantam Spectra, 1994, 277 pages, US$12.95 tpb, ISBN 0-553-37416-8
It takes more than great ideas to write great SF; you have to know how to string them together. Countless pro writers have tried to instil this notion in the heads of even more numerous aspiring authors, but it doesn’t always stick. The shocking thing is that some professional authors themselves do actually forget about it. Results vary, ranging from excellent if nearly unreadable hard-SF to mishmashes of amateurish slush pile bricks.
Terminal Cafe‘s problems are slightly different. No one will be able to say that Ian McDonald isn’t a phenomenally talented writer. No one will ever accuse him of writing bad prose. Better yet; he’s got great ideas, stuff that most frequent SF readers will gobble up with glee.
No, McDonald’s problems lie in a different direction. In a certain sense, one could say he writes too well. Or that he writes with ambitions that exceed what should be put in a novel. To put it simply; Terminal Cafe doesn’t cohere and approaches unreadability because McDonald can’t string up his great ideas with an interesting plot that’s written in such a way that’s accessible to most readers.
On the cover blurb, it reads like a classic-in-the-making: “revolutionary technology has given humans the ability to resurrect the dead. But the even-increasing population of the rise dead is segregated. They have created a wild culture untouched by restrictions of the law. Dead cannot stray in the realm of the living, nor the living into the teeming necrovilles after nightfall.” Now, one artist wants to do exactly that—cross in Necroville after nightfall. Great premise. Horror crossed with SF, a few mind-boggling sights, a thriller structure and -boom- instant SF bestseller. Insert great ideas, stir as necessary. And don’t forget to explain exactly how the dead are so different from the living.
First mistake: We never learn what/why/how the dead are -including the differences- until nearly the end of the book. And no, it’s not a shocking surprise that twists things around. As a result, a large part of the book isn’t very compelling, because or first reaction is to ask why everyone can’t get along rather than understand the dynamics at play.
What makes Terminal Cafe so damnably difficult to read is that McDonald aims for the literary crowd and never sustains the interest. the quasi-experimental writing allows for pages of exasperating soul-searching by the characters, but not a lot of plot development. Many of the dynamics between the central characters are never made too clear.
And yet… once in a while, a fragment of clearly-written, utterly fascinating passage is to be found. The description of a new multinational justice system driven by rented computer time. Original speculations on nanotechnology. Space battles. Future arts. Political shenanigans. These gems of clear diamond in the murk both enhance the book’s overall impression, and darken it—because if McDonald could write these passages, then why the heck could he have made the whole book more interesting?
It might have been the British origins of the book. It might have been a busy few days where your reviewer didn’t have the patience to try out a complex piece of writing. It might be drugs, extraterrestrials or phases of the moon. But the result is the same; Terminal Cafe is a very mixed bag of fascinating vignettes drowned in oodles of boring passages.
Proceed at your risks and perils. And if ever you’re writing a SF novel of your own, please please remember that great ideas aren’t all that’s required for a great novel; you have to be able to string them together.
(In theaters, June 2000) Every great director can make mistakes once in a while, and while Vertigo has its adherents, I can’t help but feel that Hitchcock dropped the ball with this one; it’s a story with huge structural problems and a baffling finale. This being said, it develops quite nicely, and could forever coast on the talents of Kim Novak and James Stewart. Still, there are inexcusable faults, like the disjointed nature of the film (some cutting required), the disappearance of the girl-friend character and the abrupt huh-inducing finale. It doesn’t hold up nearly as well as Hitchcock’s better films…
(Second viewing, On Cable TV, November 2020) I wasn’t a big Vertigo fan when I first saw it twenty years ago, and considering the impeccable critical acclaim that the film gets these days, I was curious to see it again and see whether two decades’ experiences and a much better understanding of Hitchcock’s career would lead me to another conclusion. Happily, it does; unhappily, I have to live with my first dumb review. Oh, I’m still not overly enthusiastic about Vertigo. I think Hitchcock has done better movies, and its appeal baffles me slightly. I have issues with the construction of the script and its far too hasty revelation (you know the one), as well as the disappearance of a supporting character without explanation. In the wider context of Hitchcock’s career, though, Vertigo is special: Its thematic obsession with, well, obsession neatly reflects other movies of his, and it’s no accident if the object of the protagonist’s fervour is a cool-ice blonde. I strongly suspect that the appeal of the film hovers at a near-unconscious level: not something based on plot or character, but in images, feelings and subtext. But, at long last, I do like it. Not a lot, but I do. James Stewart helps quite a bit, considering that his significantly darker character is epochal. Kim Novak makes for a splendid icon for Hitchcock’s own obsessions. As for San Francisco, well, it’s practically a third character with its multiple landmarks (most of whom I visited during my sole trip to the city!) showing up every few minutes. The plot itself makes slightly more sense than it did twenty years ago, but still hovers on the line of preposterousness. But that’s the nature of Vertigo: not entirely understandable on a purely rational level, and clearly aiming for a wealth of interpretations. I still like Rear Window much better, but I’ve made my peace with Vertigo so much applause.