LAWRENCE BLOCK – Eight Million Ways to Die. Arbor House, hardcover, 1982. Paperback reprints include: Jove, 1983; Avon, 1991. Film:, 1985, with Jeff Bridges as Matt Scudder (also partly based on A Stab in the Dark).

   Ex-New York policeman Matthew Scudder is not a formally licensed private investigator; he says you could call what he does “hustling for a buck…. I do favors for friends.” As this novel opens, he is about to take on a favor for a friend of a friend, Kim Dakkinen, a call girl who wants to get out of the business. Kim is afraid to tell her pimp she is leaving, and Scudder’s job is to act as go-between.

   The job goes altogether too easily. The pimp is an unusual man named Chance, with a secret hideaway in Brooklyn (to which he has admitted no one, although he later takes Scudder there) and an easygoing manner that convinces Scudder he will let Kim go. When she is brutally murdered, Scudder, an alcoholic who has been attending AA for less than two weeks, begins to drink, suffers a blackout, and wakes up in the hospital.

   After his release, he is contacted by Chance, who insists he did not kill Kim — or have her killed — and asks that Scudder find out who did. Scudder’s quest takes him into the apartments of call girls and through the bars of Manhattan and Harlem. He periodically stops in at AA meetings- just listening, refusing to speak when his turn comes.

   Teetering on the edge of drunkenness, he crosses and recrosses the city in which there are 8 million ways to die — many of them cataloged from Scudder’s obsessive reading of the newspapers — in search of a killer with a motive that is almost impossible to discern.

   This novel was nominated for a Mystery Writers of America Edgar and won the Private Eye Writer sof America Shamus Award for Best Hardcover Private Eye Novel of 1982. It is grim and powerful and, along with the other Scudder novels — In the Midst of Death (1976), Sins of the Fathers (1977), Time to Murder and Create (1977), and A Stab in the Dark (1981) — contains some of Block’s finest writing to date.

         ———
   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

HOLLYWOOD MAN. Intercontinental Releasing Corporation, 1976. William Smith, Jennifer Billingsley, Ray Girardin, Jude Farese, Mary Woronov, Tom Simcox, Don Stroud. Director: Jack Starrett.

   As a straightforward 1970s exploitation film, Hollywood Man leaves a lot to be desired. Apart from leading actor William Smith, whose omnipresent physicality permeates every scene he is in, most of the acting leaves a lot to be desired. Although there are some hilarious moments, there’s also a palpable absence of vitality in the movie. It’s as if the filmmakers wanted the audience to slog through their movie, rather than allow it to pull them in and envelope them in the narrative.

   But as a meta-movie, a movie about movies, a film about filmmaking, Hollywood Man is a surprisingly ambitious project. Smith portrays Rafe Stoker, an actor-director determined to complete his biker film. Because he’s both short on cash and fully committed to seeing the project through, he turns to a rather unsavory source of financing: the Mafia. Rafe soon learns that when you make a deal in the dark, you’re not exactly sure you’re going to get.

   Because in no time at all, a real group of outlaw biker types are on the way to the small Florida town where Rake’s shooting his film. They’ve been sent there by the Mafia to slow down production, so that he will have to part with some of his collateral. Soon enough, however, it’s revealed that the Mafia’s henchmen have their own nefarious agenda, one that includes raping and killing. Adding to the combustible mix is a local cop who seems to be playing all sides, never quite showing his cards. In the midst of all this chaos, Rafe is trying to motivate his cast and crew to finish the picture.

   All told, Hollywood Man seems to be, as much as anything else, a filmmaker’s reflection on the process of making exploitation films. Sure, the obstacles in Rafe’s path are greater than those faced by your average filmmaker. But as a meta-movie about a fictional director’s gritty determination to complete his film at any cost, this highly uneven action movie is a rather bold testament to just how far some directors will go for the love of cinema.

JOHN CREASEY – The Baron Branches Out. Avon V2341, US, paperback; 1st printing, July 1970. Published in hardcover by Charles Scribner’s Sons, US, 1967, as by Anthony Morton. First published in the UK by Hodder & Stoughton, 1961, as A Branch for the Baron, as by Anthony Morton.

  The Baron, otherwise known as John Mannering, went more or less respectable sometime over the years and most definitely had done so by the time this book was published. In his early days, as described in more detail by David Vineyard in his review of Meet the Baron (1937) here on this blog, he was a gentleman thief, one specializing in jewels, and stealing only from those who could afford the loss.

  Neither those early days nor his escapades on the other side of the law are mentioned in this book — nor (I believe) is he even referred to as the Baron — save obliquely in one regard. Mannering is now a well-known owner of a huge antiques establishment called Quinns, but when his latest idea brings him in close proximity to murder, the local police chap on hand is quite antagonistic and is convinced that Mannering has something to do with it.

  Readers not versed in Mannering’s background will be puzzled by this antagonism, as there is nothing else to support it, and it is a small key to the story. And this has to do with that idea of Mannering’s I referred to a short while back, to wit: that of buying a British manor house about to torn down to make way for a new bridge, deconstructing it himself, and shipping the building materials off to Boston, then to be put back together there as a branch of Quinns in the US.

  Of course things do not go as planned. There are hints of a ghost, a possible hoard of family jewels hidden somewhere in the mansion, a missing owner, and a couple of murders. But soon enough off to Boston the timbers and stones go, and sure enough, hints of ghosts, jewels, and murders show up as well.

  Creasey has a very fluid, readable writing style, and it goes a long way in disguising the fact that neither the story nor the players in it are all that deep. It’s enjoyable enough, but a few hours after you finish it, you may start to ask yourself if that was all there was.

BOUNTY KILLER. Just Chorizo Productions-Kickstart Productions-ARC Entertainment,2013. Matthew Marsden, Kristanna Loken, Christian Pitre, Barak Hardley, Abraham Benrubi, Gary Busey,Beverly D’Angelo, Eve. Screenwriters: Jason Dodson, Colin Ebeling & Henry Saine. Director: Henry Saine.

   I’ll sum this movie as best I can right here at the beginning by calling it a “post-apocalyptic action comedy,” a phrase which I stole from Wikipedia, but what they hey, the shoe fits.

   And truth be told, I liked this one a heck of a lot more than I expected to. As long as I’m quoting or paraphrasing from Wikipedia, I’ll right ahead and tell you that movie was born as a cartoon, then adapted into a graphic novel and a short film, then after the Enron scandal and the financial crisis of 2007-2008, a full-length feature film.

   The premise: White collar corporations has forced the collapse of the United States, and bounty killers have taken it upon themselves to right the wrongs the people behind these companies have done. Two of the most famous of these killers are Drifter (Matthew Marsden) and Mary Death (Christian Pitre), she of the glamorous jumpsuit, high boots, and very deadly weaponry.

   It turns out — it is gradually revealed that — the two main characters have a past. He was her mentor; they were at one time also lovers. Now they are fierce, competitors, even to the death. The executive class aren’t going away easily, however, and thereby lies the story.

   Nor do you need to know more than that. There is a lot of gunfire in this movie, and a lot of very gory deaths. If either of the above bother you, you’d best stay away. But it’s also a comedy, very well choreographed and photographed, and even better, the people in it act like they’re having a very good time, down to the most menial stunt doubles. I didn’t expect to, but I did, too. Have a good time, that is.

GILLIAN B. FARRELL – Alibi for an Actress. Annie McGrogan #1, Pocket, hardcover, 1992; paperback, 1993.

   I recently read a clipping about Ms. Farrell and her first book, and both sounded interesting, so when I came across it in the library I checked it out. I’m not at all sorry I did.

   Annie McGrogan is a serious actress, come to New York from Los Angeles after a love affair and painful divorce, determined to be as successful in the Big Apple as she was in LA. It hasn’t worked out that way, though, and she is down to the bottom of her purse when she sees an ad for a job with a private detective agency. She answers, is hired (though not on the spot), and we’re off.

   Except for her, the agency is comprised of ex-NYC cops, and it’s a brand new world to Annie. Her first assignment is to assist in baby-sitting a famous soap opera star, and she finds out later that the star’s husband has been murdered that same night The agency becomes involved in the murder case, and Annie gets her baptism of fire.

   I liked it. It had a feature that usually turns me off — unrealistic cops and relations therewith — but I liked the characters and writing enough to grit my teeth and get past it. Annie as portrayed by Farrell is a real human being, and a very likeable one. I don’t know how realistic the rest of the characters were, but they were interesting, and I enjoyed reading about them.

   One thing to note: you know how Susan Conant’s books are so doggy that you need to be dipped for fleas when you’ve finished one? Well, you’re in for a similar excursion here into the world of acting, and you may need a rag for the greasepaint. It comes off easy, though.

Bibliographic Notes:   Gillian B. Farrell was the joint pen name of Gillian Murphy Beinhart and Larry Beinhart, the latter having four crime novels to his credit under his own name. There was only one additional adventure for Annie McGrogan, that being Murder and a Muse (Pocket, 1994).

YANKEE FAKIR. Republic, 1947. Douglas Fowley, Joan Woodbury, Clem Bevans, Ransom Sherman, Frank Reicher, Marc Lawrence. Written by Richard S. Conway and Mindret Lord. Directed by W. Lee Wilder.

   I was drawn to this because I wanted to see if Douglas Fowley really played the hero, and while I wasn’t thrilled, I at least kept watching; along the way I discovered a fascinating bit of background and much to wonder at.

   For one thing: Whence that title? Did they imagine folks would beat down the doors to see something called Yankee Fakir? And whence “fakir”? I’ve never met an actual fakir, but they’re well-nigh ubiquitous in The Arabian Nights, so I know one when I see one and there just ain’t any here in this movie.

   For another thing: This was released by Republic, Hollywood’s factory of low-budget thrills, but it’s an independent production by the semi-legendary W. Lee Wilder, older brother of Billy Wilder (you may have heard of him) and auteur of The Great Flamarian, Phantom from Space, Killers from Space, The Snow Creature and Man Without a Body.So you know what to expect. Yankee has none of the pace and polish one expects from a Republic western; in fact, it looks more like something that escaped from PRC or Monogram, what with Joan Woodbury and Douglas Fowley handling the leads.

   I’ve mentioned Douglas Fowley here before: Doc Holliday on TV’s Wyatt Earp; slow-burning director in Singin’ in the Rain; slimy bad guy in dozens of cheap westerns and the actual director of Macumba Love. That’s the guy. Here he loses his familiar snarky moustache and dons a flattering hairpiece as a traveling salesman who falls for a Border Ranger’s daughter and turns detective when someone does the old man in.

   Republic could have made a halfway decent B-western out of that — in fact they probably did, more than once — but Wilder pretty much fritters it away, with comic relief, a cute kid, local color, more comedy (I use the term loosely) and plot complications that pretty much go nowhere. Marc Lawrence, a figure associated with noir in general (and The Asphalt Jungle in particular) adds a moment of interest as a mysterious nasty, but not enough of them, even in a quickie like this.

   But beyond the fascination of seeing a confirmed miscreant like Fowley cast solidly against type, Yankee Fakir raised an eyebrow — not when I watched it, but when I went to research it and encountered the story of the writer, Mindret Lord. There’s not room enough to recount it all here, but I suggest you look him up on IMDB for a story much more intriguing than this feeble movie warrants.

This English band’s third album was released in 1969. Symphonic rock at its finest. I’ve owned my copy ever since:

JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., as edited by LOREN D. ESTLEMAN – Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Holmes. Doubleday, hardcover, 1979. Penguin, paperback, 1980. Titan Books, trade paperback, 2010.

   The title says it all, another of the overflow of trifles and otherwise harmless conceits that have been delivered to the dedicated Holmesian over the past few years. Somehow they are all to be fit into the established saga — can they be? — never mind the contortions and dislocated timelines they put the true enthusiast through.

   This, one of the more recent entries, is a followup to Sherlock Holmes vs. Dracula, as chronicled by Mr. Estleman, and of which once again no more than the title need be said. In all fairness to the author, and with no further protest, this later adventure is both nobly attempted and capably accomplished.

   The facts of the matter cannot be altered, however. We, as readers, already know the sinister secret held in common by the well-intentioned Dr. Jekyll and his fearsome friend, Mr Hyde. As a direct result, there is no mystery involved in the matter at all. Watching Sherlock Holmes use his famed powers of deduction to untangle the tale of their twisted identities quickly becomes a matter of little more than idle intellectual curiosity.

   It was Robert Louis Stevenson who told is the story first. Even if the participation of the world’s greatest consulting detective were to accepted now as proven fact, at this late date there seems to be little reason for any of the tale to be told again. The single exception may prove to be the newly revealed details of the brief excursion that Holmes and his companion Watson find it necessary to make to the Scottish brothel during their visit to the latter’s alma mater. In search of the truth, of course.

HOT ROD GIRL. American International Pictures, 1956. Lori Nelson, Chuck Connors, John Smith, Mark Andrews, Roxanne Arlen, Frank Gorshin, Fred Essler, Dabbs Greer. Director: Leslie H. Martinson.

   For a movie that doesn’t have much of a story line, let alone any outstanding dialogue, Hot Rod Girl is a surprisingly enjoyable, if utterly juvenile and simplistic, little programmer. With a title like that, you’d think the whole movie revolved around the travails of an ambitious young female race car driver or something to that effect. But you’d be wrong about that, seeing how the main female character is, in many ways, only secondary to the whole affair and that she’s only seen driving a car once – in the opening scene, of course.

   Still, despite the somewhat misleading name, the movie’s got some flair to it. There’s some nice Southern California scenery, some great cars, and a youngish Chuck Connors who portrays Ben Merrill, an easygoing cop who is trying to find a way for his town’s young people to race their cars safely. Rather than have them drive fast around town, he worked to have them drive out on “The Strip,” somewhere out in the desert.

   But kids will be kids. Sometimes they just have to rebel. After a fatal accident takes the life of one of the local hot rod kids, things go from bad to worse for a small group of friends in the racing scene. Antisocial newcomer Bronc Talbott (Mark Andrews) shows up in town, taunts local mechanic Jeff Nothrup (John Smith) and hits on Jeff’s girl, “hot rod girl” Lisa Vernon (Lori Nelson).

   Matters spiral downhill when a car race up in the Hollywood Hills claims the life of a young boy on a bicycle. But with Ben Merrill on the case, and Jeff determined to stop the increasingly violent Bronc Talbott, it’s only a matter of time before things come to a head. And believe me, they do, when fisticuffs start flying in a local diner hangout called Yo-Yo’s. (It’s run by the eponymous Yo-Yo, an immigrant portrayed to perfection by veteran character actor Fred Essler.)

   With a jazzy score and some contemporaneous teenager slang, Hot Rod Girl is a fun, if clumsily executed, juvenile delinquency film. After watching it once, I can’t imagine I’d ever watch it again. But it wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable ride.