Reviews

  • The End of War, David L. Robbins

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Bantam, 2000, 506 pages, C$9.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-553-58138-4

    Early 1945. The Third Reich is crumbling, attacked from two fronts: The Allies have been in Europe for six months and the Russians are pitting the might of their war machine against a battered German army. Both sides are rushing towards Berlin. Whoever first captures the capital will get to dictate Europe’s geopolitical history for decades. As high-level talks divvy up lines on a map, it’s up to the soldiers to suffer through the consequences of these decisions.

    After writing about the battle of Stalingrad in The War of the Rats, David L. Robbins goes back to World War II with The End of War, a novel about the race for Berlin in the last few weeks of the European front. Not only a story about the end of WW2, The End of War is also a portentous narrative that suggests most of subsequent European history.

    It is, naturally enough, a big subject, involving millions of men from more than three nations on two continents. The sweep of the events may be epic, but Robbins carefully restricts his characters to only a few. As he point out in the author’s foreword,

    The End of War is constructed along the lines of a Greek tragedy: the gods discuss the affairs of man, then their Olympians intents are played at human level. In this novel, the gods are Winston Churchill, Josef Stalin, and Franklin Roosevelt. Lesser deities include General Dwight Eisenhower and Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. The book’s corresponding mortals are three fictional characters – one Russian soldier, one German civilian, and one American photojournalist.

    As the race toward Berlin heats up, the novel describes the high-level negotiations -Malta, Yalta, etc- that led to the Russian takeover of Berlin. Naturally enough, the most interesting storyline is the American one, as photojournalist Charley Bandy is closer to our own viewpoint. As an observer, he witnesses the battlefield as we would, and reacts to the discovery of Nazi atrocities much like we would too. The next most interesting storyline is Lottie’s story: as a female cellist stuck in Berlin as the two armies converge on their ultimate objective, she’s the viewpoint by which we witness the city being bombed in submission. Finally, the third storyline is a young Soviet Soldier’s perspective as he fights his way to Berlin. Some readers will probably find this to be the book’s strongest storyline, but it just seemed dull compared to the more immediate plights of the two others.

    Yet, The End of War does a good job at telling the story leading up to the last few days of the European front. The historical credibility of the novel is high thanks to the depth of research demonstrated by the details of the narrative. But what’s even more effective is Robbin’s ability to convey the lassitude of the characters involved in the events. The endgame is as much a matter of endurance as of might, and the fatigue that permeates everyone’s decisions is palpable.

    History buffs will undoubtedly devour The End of War as a compelling war story. There is a lot of material packed in those five hundred pages. While not stories here are as equally compelling, they all add up to an impressive historical portrait. It’s another splendid effort by Robbins; maybe not as memorable as the very personal sniper duel in War of the Rats, but impressive in its own right.

  • The Hours (2002)

    The Hours (2002)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Shameless Oscar-bait film that would be wholly unremarkable if it wasn’t for the acting talent and the self-conscious focus on time-tested critic-nip. Throw together a cast of self-destructive characters, edit between multiple storylines, throw in a few soliloquies about the nature of life and you’ve got yourself a nice little package “for your consideration.” Fortunately, the film isn’t as dull or preachy as it may sound, and despite the deliberate nature of the material, it’s not completely dull. In fact, there is a lot to like here, from a shared willingness of the actors to suffer for their part (Oscar lust will do that to you) to a dazzling structure that hops between three eras and a dozen characters. While your sympathy for self-destructive suicidal characters may run low, The Hours offers a bit more than that and may actually be worth a look.

  • Frida (2002)

    Frida (2002)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) I don’t know much about Frida Kahlo, and so I suspect that much of the film’s content was lost on me. On the other hand, I can testify that it does a credible job at telling her story. Salma Hayek hits a career high with this role which takes her from teenhood to old age in a fairly smooth fashion. (Plus, we get to see her naked and nude) The script is all right, but what makes the film come alive is Julie Taymor’s direction, which attempts to give to the film the style of Kahlo’s paintings. Some of the symbolism is a touch too obvious (the butterflies on her full-body cast… awww…) but don’t worry; there’s plenty of story to enjoy too. There are a bunch of familiar faces in small roles, from Antonio Banderas to Edward Norton (both uncredited) and Geoffrey Rush.

  • Final Destination 2 (2003)

    Final Destination 2 (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Splatter fans should rejoice, because the most distinguish characteristic of this sequel to 2000’s creepy supernatural thriller isn’t the plot as much as the appalling disregard shown for the human body. In this version of reality, receiving a plate glass window pane on the head isn’t going to give you a fatal cerebral commotion; it’s going to liquefy your body in a mass of reddish organic material. Such gore is commonplace in this movie, which pushes the envelope of its hard-R rating to levels seldom seen nowadays. On one hand, I’m sort of glad to see that the film doesn’t wuss out. On another, even the jaded moviegoer that I am isn’t terribly compelled to encourage this gratuitous school of schlock cinematography. It doesn’t help that the story is a thin re-tread of the original. But whereas the previous film had a nasty little unnerving focus, this one feels looser and filled with nonsensical plot holes. (Why should a suicide attempt fail while another one succeeds?) The tone of the sequel may be more consistent compared to the first film’s shifting atmosphere, but there’s something distasteful in the Grand Guignol level of so-called humorous gore shown here. It’s even out-of place with the showcase sequence of the film, a horrific traffic accident that will make everyone’s teeth grit together for several continuous minutes: There are plenty of spectacular explosions and crashes, but scarcely any enjoyment in seeing dozen of people being graphically dismembered. Oh well; at least the movie kills off some unexpected victims. This is one for the gore fans; you know who you are. I don’t think we need a third film, though.

  • Dark Blue (2002)

    Dark Blue (2002)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Corrupt cops are a dime a dozen in movies, but we should be so lucky as to have them played by Kurt Russell! His take on a cop whose sense of justice doesn’t stop at legal technicalities is one of the best things he’s done in years. The story isn’t terribly original (the similarities of Training Day may stem from the fact that both scripts were written by the same person), but it carries itself ably up to the third act, which is brought down by a hideous coincidence, a gratuitous “big speech” ending and a lack of resonance with 1992’s L.A. riots. Dark Blue isn’t a film that’s going to be remembered a few years from now, but it’s decent enough entertainment; the type of thing you see on late-night TV and watch with a vaguely satisfying impression. There’s real fun in seeing an unorthodox police investigation produce some results and, as mentioned, seeing Kurt Russell in a meaty role for once.

  • The Third Option, Vince Flynn

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Pocket, 2000, 402 pages, C$10.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-671-04732-9

    Vince Flynn’s first thriller, Term Limits, was a provocative thriller in which super-patriot terrorists began killing corrupt politicians. While the novel later settled for a very disappointing conclusion closer to what we’d call “the usual thriller”, it was an original debut from a writer with potential. Flynn once again delivered the goods with Transfer of Power, a by-the-number hostage thriller in which the White House was taken over by Middle Eastern terrorists. Despite familiar plot mechanics, it was a decent enough novel with enough dynamic energy to make it interesting.

    Sadly enough, Flynn’s third outing displays none of the interest and most of the flaws of his previous efforts. It’s dull, pointless and reminiscent of the type of so-called “thrillers” churned out by Robert Ludlum in his most featureless period.

    There isn’t even a decent hook to draw us in. Once again, an American secret operative is double-crossed and left for dead. Naturally enough, he’s barely wounded and vows revenge on whoever betrayed him. There are friends in high places, enemies in equivalent positions and high-level political intrigue. Our hero is forced to flee, infiltrate, attack and punish. All of which has been done before in much more interesting stories.

    Worse; in The Third Option (which refers to “special” intelligence work, once diplomacy and military force are no longer practical), Flynn explicitly brings back characters from his previous two novels. Super-agent Mitch Rapp is back as the protagonist (along with his girlfriend, with predictable plot developments) and Congressman Michael O’Rourke follows up from the events of Term Limits.

    The biggest problem with continuing series is that it robs the reader of a sense of unpredictability. While this is acceptable -even comforting- in some genres such as the mystery genre (see Robert B. Parker’s Spencer series), it’s not an option in the thriller genre. Here, part of the pleasure of reading is in not knowing what can happen at a very high level. The president can be assassinated; a city can be incinerated; conspiracies can be uncovered; protagonists can die. Here, the stakes become correspondingly smaller. The magnitude of the thrill is reduced by built-in constraints. Any writer tempted to write, as Flynn is doing, “a series of political thrillers” would be advised to reconsider. (This goes double for editors trying to sell this stuff.)

    The Third Option‘s conclusion is a splendid example of how series can hamper the thrills; all of our protagonists survive and some of the villains are caught while the bigger villains escape to strike another day, much like in any bad cartoon made for children. Thrills? Slight. Memorable impressions? Even slighter. Worse; the novel is padded, drawing out the unsatisfying conclusion. Some of the political manoeuvring is implausible even for a guy stuck in Ottawa, a fatal blow to a so-called serious “political thriller”.

    To be entirely fair, it’s impossible to know at this point what Flynn has in mind for his series. Is it all leading up to a concluding tome which will kill the whole cast and send Washington in orbit? Maybe. In the meantime, though, does it mean his readers are going to be teased at every “thrilling” instalment waiting for something to happen? Why should their pay money and waste their time for this dubious privilege?

    As it stands now, The Third Option is a setback for anyone paying attention to Flynn’s career. He’s not a terribly gifted writer on a technical level, so the success of his books tends to depend a lot on the plotting. Consequently, he can’t manage to hold any interest in a very average third novel. Worse; chances are that he’s managed to make anyone very indifferent to the prospect of a fourth one.

  • Daredevil (2003)

    Daredevil (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Marvel Comics’ recent run of decent movie adaptations continues, though Daredevil isn’t much more than decent. The problem isn’t to be found in the built-by-numbers story or the lead cast: While Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner and Michael Clarke Duncan are a touch bland but okay, Colin Farrell steals the show with one of the most delightfully over-the-top villains in recent history. Nope, the problems are concentrated in the choppy editing, the nervous direction and the lack of oomph. Resemblances are easy to see with Spider-Man, up to a point where it’s possible to worry that comic superheroes movies will all pretty much have the same trauma/story setup. Still, this is darker than usual, though the film chickens out near the end when comes the time to seal some characters’ fate. I was very disappointed at some of the so-called action sequences, which were often over-edited in a choppy mess. (The bar fight is a prime example of this). Some of the operational details of Daredevil’s lifestyle are also sadly unexamined, though some of it may be left in the rumoured 25 minutes of cut footage. What can’t be fixed though more footage, though, is the soundtrack which is already dated “Summer 2002” by its overuse of RIAA-approved rock bands cloned from Creed genes. Still, I’m not complaining too much; as comic book movies go, this is still one of the good ones, and even if it’s lacking, it’s not completely awful. It’ll do.

  • Cradle 2 The Grave (2003)

    Cradle 2 The Grave (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Well, that was fun. Some will argue that the best part of the film is the opening heist sequence. I’ll disagree in a moment, but said lightning-fast sequence certainly sets the breakneck rhythm of the film. The result may be moronic beyond measure, but at least it moves quickly enough that you won’t have time to reflect on the problems until after the film is over. (Thanks to a funny sequence that plays over the credits, that means that the moment of reckoning takes place after all is done.) The biggest strength of Cradle 2 The Grave (don’t look for a relation between this title and the film) is how it doesn’t solely depends on Jet Li and DMX as the protagonists, but assigns a lot of time to a bunch of highly amusing sidekicks. There are a few good action sequences, the best of which involves a chase between police cars and an All-Terrain Vehicle: it’s a lot more fun than you’d think it would be. Alas, this chase is better than the scattered ending, which gracelessly cuts between three or four underwhelming action sequences. Overall, Cradle 2 The Grave is a fun little action film, probably the best American film Jet Li has been in (it is not, however, Jet Li’s best performance in a stateside movie given the lack of material he’s got to work with here.) Gabrielle Union fans will be pleased to note that she not only turns in a fine performance here, but she also does a strip-tease. As if you needed any other reason to see the film…

  • 25th Hour (2002)

    25th Hour (2002)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, February 2003) Spike Lee detractors might be pleasantly surprised with this film, a low-key drama that feels like his least militant, yet most mature work to date. Actor demi-god Edward Norton stars as a convicted drug dealer spending one last day of freedom before heading to prison for seven years. Naturally, several plot lines come together during that last day as he says good-bye to family, friends and, er, “business acquaintances”. The rhythm is tepid, but handled nicely; there’s seldom a dull moment. It all builds to a strong conclusion, but a few set-pieces overshadow the narrative arc: an uninterrupted conversation over the wreckage of Ground Zero; a joyfully incorrect sequence in which Norton swears at New York’s population; a last-minute fantasy that threatens to cheapen the whole film. But it all holds together in an intriguing drama. Part of it we’ve seen before (Philip Seymour Hoffman’s arc is duller than his character), but most of it is intriguingly new; how do you say goodbye for seven years, maybe forever? The cast is up to the subtlety of the material, with particular kudos to Barry Pepper as a friend whose tough-love rhetoric hides profound guilt. (Also, Rosario Dawson has seldom looked better.) This is the first film to confront the post-World Trade Center New York City, and if some shots feel gratuitous, at least it hasn’t shirked away from the challenge. All and all, it’s a solid film, worth a look without being spectacular.

  • Tomorrow Now, Bruce Sterling

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Random House, 2002, 320 pages, C$37.95 hc, ISBN 0-679-46322-4

    Anyone who’s been following Science Fiction over the last decade knows that Bruce Sterling is The Man. Since 1992, he has produced an impressive series of solid, cosmopolitan, cutting-edge stories. He writes with a degree of originality and complexity that is seldom seen amongst his contemporaries. At a time when SF is massively retreating back on its past glories, Sterling dares to look in our current future and write delightfully energetic Science-Fiction. He’s one of the best, if not the best SF writer today.

    His latest non-fiction book, Tomorrow Now is a reflection of the abilities that have propelled him to the top. Sterling has grown up, and this book demonstrates it. Billed as “envisioning the next fifty years”, this book is more akin to a wide-ranging lecture on a variety of subject.

    It’s loosely structured around Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man” (as outlined in As You Like It) First on the list is “The Infant”, along with a discussion of the possibilities of biotechnology. Standard futurist stuff, though with an emphasis on the disturbingly sceptic feel these innovations will take. The rest of the book is as much about now as it is about tomorrow. “The Student” looks at today’s innovation in education through the Internet while “The Lover” examines technology made “lovable” through personalization. In both cases, Sterling isn’t predictive as much as he studies what is happening today.

    This impression strengthens in Chapter 4, “The Soldier”, as it reads like a Wired article describing the careers of three unorthodox military leaders. The portrait is fascinating; chances are that even though all three have lived and fought during the 1990s, you’ve never heard their names. And yet, taken together, these three show the way towards a future type of warfare. “The Soldier” may be the book’s most interesting chapter. It clearly shows where Sterling got his ideas for his previous novel Zeitgeist, uncovers a facet of recent history few of us even know about and manages to spin it in a blueprint for the next few decades.

    But Sterling also stretches his scope outside simple prediction. In “The Justice”, he discusses the growing complacency of government and becomes a political theorist. In “The Pantaloon”, he tackles economic matters and mentions his invitation to the Davos World Economic Forum with a proper degree of humility. (“If I were to cut and paste my latest 1040 tax form onto the page here, it would be far worse and more shocking that posting nude pics of myself on the Internet.” [P.216]) Finally, in “Mere Oblivion”, he muses on the environment and the dangers of global warming.

    All in all, it’s fantastic reading even if he doesn’t always deliver on what we may expect from a “book of predictions.” Tomorrow Now may meander and end up being too short, but there’s no denying that it’s a new-thought-a-minute, two-quotes-a-page peek in the mind of a genius.

    The only thing that really annoyed me about Tomorrow Now is the physical object itself. Published as a stunted hardcover scarcely bigger than a regular paperback, Tomorrow Now‘s presentation feels a lot like an attempt to camouflage a short book as something worth 40$. Granted, the calibre of the ideas contained therein is certainly a cut above the usual hardcover, but it still doesn’t make up for the perceived loss in value. I’m still glad I sent some money in Sterling’s pocket, but readers without my generous book-buying budget may want to borrow this one at the library… or wait for the paperback edition. I also hated the translucent cover and the title-less design of the dust jacket… but that’s just me.

    Despite the above caveat, I’d be remiss if I didn’t suggest that this is a book that deserves to be read. Despite the often-frustrating rambling and dodgy structure, there is a lot of material here for Sterling fans, think-tanks, techno-geeks, SF writers and anyone else interested in what a fun guy like Sterling may have in mind. As he points out, “you don’t want a free author in your house” [P.230] but Tomorrow Now is the next best thing. Fans of the authors are free to ponder one thing: much as his previous non-fiction book The Hacker Crackdown marked a significant shift in his fiction, what will happen after Tomorrow Now?

  • On Basilisk Station (Honor Harrington 1), David Weber

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Baen, 1993, 422 pages, C$9.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-671-72163-1

    I’ve been eyeing David Weber’s Honor Harrington series for a while now, feeling as if I should give it a try while simultaneously being intimidated by the series’ growing number of volumes. I kept buying the books at second-hand stores, hoping to complete the dozen-book set before diving in. But that could have taken a while. Happily, Baen neatly solved the problem with the tenth novel in the Honor Harrington series, War of Honor: The C$41 hardcover included a CD-ROM containing, yep, the whole series (and more) in electronic format. No more worries about missing volumes; I could just start reading what I had and “fill in the blanks” with the electronic version on my trusty PDA.

    First stop, then: On Basilisk Station, Honor Harrington’s first adventure.

    Who’s Honor? She’s a starship captain who, at the start of this first novel, assumes her first command, a decrepit cruiser optimistically christened Fearless. But Honor is the embodiment of her ship’s name and at the first training exercise opportunity she gets, she severely embarrasses a cocky superior by beating him at his own game.

    Mistake. Before long, she’s exiled to a trivial faraway post, where she meets an old nemesis who -in cowardly fashion- flees and leaves her to perform a wide variety of tasks with almost no assets. What others would consider impossible, Honor sees as opportunity: before long, she shapes up everything in fine fighting form. But don’t be bored yet; an enemy attack looms…

    A lot of things are obvious from On Basilisk Station: First, that it’s a classical underdog-against-all-odds story featuring a plucky heroine who deserves our unqualified admiration. Second, that it’s a direct descendant of the Horatio Hornblower naval adventure stories. Third, that’s it’s completely successful as an introductory volume to the Honor Harrington series.

    I’m hooked, no doubt about it: Weber writes honest military SF, sure, but unlike too many of his immediate colleagues, he never forgets that he’s primarily telling a story, not recreating a tactical engagement for the enjoyment of the armchair strategists in the audience. His secondary characters take a while to come in focus, but they do and Honor Harrington herself is the type of archetypical heroine worth absolute devotion. Similarities with Lois McMaster Bujold’s Miles Vorkosigan go beyond the fact that they’re both published by Baen books.

    At least Weber’s political prejudices are obvious. The evil Havenites have a policy of expansion made inevitable by “almost two T-centuries of deficit spending to shore up an increasingly insolvent welfare state.” [P.52] Tee-hee! Then there’s the not-so-good Liberals, whose dedication to maintaining a military presence on Basilisk Station is traitorously suspect. The political system in which Honor lives is adapted directly from the English’s parliamentary monarchy: a nod to Hornblower and C.S. Forrester, sure, but also a rather convenient setting for true-blood Anglo-Saxon space opera… but I’ll hold off on any potentially embarrassing comments on the ethnicity of the series until I’ve read more of it. At least the complete gender integration of Honor’s universe is a laudable assumption.

    In short, On Basilisk Station is addictive reading. I’m definitely in for the duration of the Harrington series. At one book per month (and, presumably, one review per month), I should reach War of Honor by October 2003. Stay tuned!

  • Terminal Event, James Thayer

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Simon & Schuster, 1999, 347 pages, C$37.00 hc, ISBN 0-684-84210-6

    Don’t trust Terminal Event‘s cover blurb. It says something about an air-crash investigator fighting against colleagues who think a crash was human error. It suggests something about a battle of wit between the investigator and a mad serial bomber. It’s even more deceitful than the usual cover blurb. (Though it gets the protagonist’s name right) It’s a disservice to the book, really, because Terminal Event is a much, much better book than what the blurb may lead you to think.

    This novel opens with a harrowing scene: Narrator Joe Durant, formerly of the National Transportation Security Board, walks through a forest peppered with the aftermath of an airplane crash. Metal fragments are scattered along with human body parts as Durant quickly assesses the situation and realizes what has to be done. He barely has time to cede control to authorities before upchucking his lunch. His wife was on the flight.

    Before long, he’s back in with the NTSB. Grieving (but not too much), he helps in piecing together a theory about what happened. His is not the only theory: others ideas are floating around, and one of Terminal Event‘s rare pleasures is in tracking down some very different red herrings. In some ways, it’s an interesting dilemma: Joe’s theory isn’t sexy, but it’s his. As readers, do we want the drama of, say, a surfaced-launched missile or do we want to see our hero being proven right with a decidedly less exciting theory?

    Joe is not alone, of course. In addition to his colleagues, he’s also assigned a hard-as-nail female FBI liaison. She gets to see what he does at the NTSB; he gets to see what she does at the FBI. In one of those easy dramatic shortcuts jaded readers learn to ignore, Joe ends up being present at almost every twist and turn of three different investigations. He’s threatened, bribed, confused, decried and -surprise!- ultimately triumphant… though not in the way anyone could expect.

    There is no doubt that Terminal Event is a techno-thriller that veers very close to engineering fiction. The details about the work the NTSB performs are endlessly fascinating, but for a specific crowd. Tom Clancy fans will go nuts for the nuts-and-bolts minutia of air-crash investigations. But more casual thriller writers shouldn’t despair; Thayer is remarkably efficient in turning out accessible prose. Terminal Event passed the acid test of thrillers by making your reviewer read far too late in the night for “just one more chapter.”

    There’s a lot to like about this book, from the narrative energy to the sympathetic narrator. Even better is the book’s multiple competing plot threads, one (or none) of which may just be the solution to the whole sorry mess. Unlike other novels, Terminal Event seldom tips its hand, keeping those storylines equally compelling all the way through. Also refreshing is a light romance that never overwhelms the book, and the resolution of said romance.

    What isn’t as successful is the storyline following the narrator’s grief, which is seldom brought up and almost ends up as an incidental subplot. A long time passes during which the issue of the dead wife isn’t even brought up. The discovery of her body, for instance, is mentioned almost casually as something having happened days before. In fact, the subjective duration of the events in Terminal Event is puzzling; all the action is supposed to “fit” in ten days, but it seems considerably longer, especially during the first half of the book.

    But no matter; Terminal Event is a deeply original, constantly interesting thriller. It’s readable like few others and contains enough details about the NTSB to double as a light non-fiction article on the mindset of its investigators. Just buy it without reading the cover blurb.

  • The Bridge, John Skipp & Craig Spector

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Bantam, 1991, 419 pages, C$5.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-553-29027-4

    A drum filled with toxic chemicals falls from a truck into a body of water. It breaks open, releasing nasty industrial waste into the wilderness. Then a horrible mutation takes place and people start to die!

    The above is the initial story trigger for EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS, a delightful 2002 comedy that apes the hackneyed conventions of 1950s giant-insect B-movies. As it happens, it’s also the premise behind The Bridge, a gore-filled horror novel by John Skipp and Craig Spector. Whereas EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS is a comedy, well, there’s not much to laugh about in The Bridge —even as ludicrous as it is.

    The problems start early on in this quasi-earnest tale of environmental catastrophe. It’s hard not to giggle as a random accumulation of toxic waste somehow creates a brand-new monster. You thought that type of easy plotting went out with comic books and B-movie from the fifties, but no, Skipp and Spector seem determined to play this silly concept in a relatively straightforward manner. (Or rather as straightforward as they want, which may not be very much given the whole novel’s overblown quality.)

    Suffice to say that in a few dozen pages, our eeevil toxic dumpers are severely punished and that a toxic overmind is attacking a small town in Northeastern America. Even at this point, the level of nastiness exhibited by the authors is impressive: Characters are killed before we can even get to know them. (I’ve heard “splatterpunk” used to describe this book, but even if I can recognize a heck of a lot of splatter in The Bridge, I’m not familiar enough with the sub-genre to be comfortable in designating the novel as such.)

    But no problem; there are always more characters to feed in the good old gore-chipper. Too many of them, in fact; while Skipp & Spector need ever-expanding battalions of monster-fodder in order to tell their story, it quickly becomes apparent that none of them is going to be important enough to remember. In fact, it’s worth noting that The Bridge doesn’t have a plot as much as it has a list of victims. There is scarcely any further narrative arc than the characters discovering that the toxic blob is out to get them. No serious efforts are conducting at fighting back; there is only escape, and not a very effective escape at that.

    The cumulative effect of this realisation is a steady loss of interest in a novel that is already too scattered to be gripping. While The Bridge constantly teases us with interesting elements and the promise of hard-core horror, it never achieves critical mass.

    Another part of the problem is that Skipp and Spector try to have it both ways: First, as a serious commentary on the environment (including, I kid you not, an eighteen-pages appendix on how to be an environmentalist), but also as a novel of supernatural horror. One defuses the other in much the same way that Peter Straub’s Floating Dragon trivialized its man-made threat by putting it alongside a supernatural monster. Who even cares about pollution when zombies want to eat your brain?

    On the other hand, there’s a steadily mounting glee at seeing Skipp and Spector overturn almost every tradition in their quest to kill as many characters in the messiest ways possible. The last few pages will have even the most jaded readers go “eew” as the novel moves far, far away from the watered down simulacrum that passes as “horror” nowadays.

    But even though a good ending can redeem a lot of things, The Bridge‘s conclusion seems to stop for lack of people to kill, not out of story to tell. Heck, the real story of The Bridge begins after the last page, and the authors quit before it truly gets interesting.

    In the end, The Bridge is a half-interesting, half-frustrating novel of hard-core horror. Readers with strong stomachs might enjoy aspects of it even as the sum of all parts fails short of satisfaction. While it’s considerably nastier than “mainstream horror”, it’s equally less successful in narrative qualities. On the other hand, it’s an effective cautionary tale against the evils of toxic waste dumping… Oh, who am I kidding!? Let’s go watch EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS again.

  • Long Bomb: How the XFL became TV’s biggest fiasco, Brett Forrest

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Crown, 2002, 254 pages, C$37.95 hc, ISBN 0-609-60992-0

    The more cynical among us (your reviewer included) would like to make you believe that we live in a age where everything is controlled, calculated, test-marketed and over-designed. All of our entertainment options are manufactured to order in a society dominated by consumerism and obedience. Britney Spears is less of an artist than a marketing vision given curvaceous form. MBA-holding executives are assembling movies from pieces defined by statisticians, psychologists and market analysts. We simple-minded consumers have no chance: we can only bleat and accept what we’re given.

    In this context, the complete failure of the XFL in early 2001 is something worth celebrating. World Wresting Federation (now World Wrestling Entertainment) CEO Vince McMahon buddied up with NBC executive Dick Ebersol to given us a brand new football league, the XFL. Combining NBC’s sportscasting expertise with the WWF’s flair for showmanship, the XFL was supposed to be a more exciting, less expensive alternative to the tired old NFL.

    In retrospect, it’s hard to say whether this was a great or terrible idea. Certainly, NBC thought it was getting good broadcasting material for almost nothing: Founding the XFL was considerably cheaper than forking out billions for NFL licensing. Vince McMahon wanted a respectability that wrestling could never provide. Hundreds of players wanted another chance to strut their stuff in front of an audience. And maybe, just maybe, the American public could find a spot in their schedule for another sport league.

    It didn’t turn out that way.

    The first game of the XFL drew respectable numbers. Rating for subsequent games, though, melted down until the last few games, which pulled in the lowest numbers ever recorded for prime-time shows in network broadcast history —scarcely a few hundred thousand viewers across North America. Pundits, journalists and comedians skewered the new league mercilessly. The experiment was not repeated; no second season of the XFL was ever seriously considered once the ratings crashed through the floor.

    Long Bomb recounts all of the above is sarcastic glee. Brett Forrest presumably hung around the league as everything happened, and if the book doesn’t feature his own adventures (indeed, there are scenes where a gaping obscurity occupies the place where a first-person narrator should be), the narration clearly indicates someone who paid attention. Far too much of the book reads like a sardonic description of the TV newscasts, but from time to time we go behind the scenes and get a glimpse in the life of the real players in the XFL.

    The writing style has its moments, but all too often loses itself in flight of fancies that are not entirely appropriate to the subject being discussed. Still, Long Bomb is a compulsively readable account of a recently fascinating subject. It’s a bit of a shame that there’s no DVD companion featuring telecasts of what he discusses, but given the difficulties Forrest had in dealing with XFL, WWE and NBC executives, well, maybe we should just be happy that the book exists at all.

    But maybe above everything, Long Bomb is an account of a gigantic failure, one of the most spectacular miscalculation in recent memory. The XFL existed at the crossroads of sports and entertainment, and an account of its history must consider implications in both fields. In some ways, it’s a refreshing reminder that despite all the expert advice and pre-manufactured elements you can throw at a money-making venture, it can still fail as soon as no one is watching. And even gibbering football fans familiar with wrestling can choose not to watch.

    Somehow, that’s a reassuring thought.

  • The Recruit (2003)

    The Recruit (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, January 2003) Espionage and Al Pacino are similar in that they’re both endlessly fascinating, even in strictly routine situations. Here, Pacino plays another one of his brash mentor roles (this time to rising star Colin Farrell) in a film about the CIA training regimen. Sort of an espionage Harry Potter, if you prefer. The story is a bit too insistent on the idea that “nothing is what it seems”, because ultimately, that’s the idea behind the (easily guessable) Big Twist. Even then, though, The Recruit remains steadily entertaining. The training sequences are serviceable, and the plotline can hold anyone’s interest for a while even if the element of surprise isn’t there. This isn’t a terribly spectacular film, and it will probably be in the middle of the pack come year’s end, but it works well. Keep your eyes open for a few Kurt Vonnegut references, from Cat’s Cradle to (heh-heh!) Breakfast of Champions. Oh, and the “George Bush Center for Intelligence” quick gag. By the end, though, one ethical question still remains unresolved, maybe an indication of the film’s headlong rush to a serviceable conclusion.