Friday, March 15, 2019

A Few Berks

Busy Monsters - William Giraldi - Read this one because I enjoyed Jeremy Saulnier's movie Hold the Dark based on a novel of the same name by Giraldi. Eh... the first fifty pages or so breezed by pretty effortlessly, but as it began to dawn on me I'd have to spend the rest of the book listening to this character talk at me I lost interest. Clever and well-written, but not so much my thing.

Cherry - Nico Walker - This story of an asshole with barely a soul trying to connect with somebody or something is frequently engaging on a prose level, but seemed to interest me in storylines more than it did the narrator. The structure allows for chapters to be read individually without having to be taken in order of completion which is kinda cool, but in the end it felt like parts outweighed the whole. Subject matter involving drug-fiend lovers turned soldiers and bank-robbers in and out of that order promises something awful on every page, but consistently casual so that it never quite leveled me the way I feel it should. Certainly interested in seeing more from Walker - this one's a mixed bag of talent and subject matter occasionally connecting for good moments, but frequently frustratingly falling short of emotional weight. I hear the Russo Brothers are making a movie show of this one starring Spider-man himself... hmmm. It'll be a departure from the superheroes I guess.

Claire DeWitt & the Bohemian Highway - Sara Gran - Holy crap, I wish Sara Gran would write a book every year or two that I could know was waiting for me when I needed something guaranteed to peel my lid back a bit instead of the probably more lucrative gig of writing television and movie stuffs below her talent level or never to reach fruition. Gran is a formidable talent and DeWitt a singular creation the rare series character I am happy to follow for a few more adventures.


The Death of Bunny Munro - Nick Cave - Good Lord I put off reading this one for some reason - I dunno, probably the title or something - just seemed like it wasn't really aimed at me. But I love Cave's music and his previous novel And the Ass Saw the Angel was great so I always knew I'd get around to it. What I didn't know is that I would read it cover to cover in a single day. That doesn't happen often. Shit, I can't imagine experiencing this one in any other fashion now. Bunny Munro (the character) is such a hideous creation it's hard to imagine coming back day after day for another tidbit, another taste and finishing the book over a few days or weeks. But as a single day's experience it was potent and fucking memorable. You are absolved and forgiven for giving up on it in the first few chapters spent in Munro's head as he piles seamy sexual conquest on top of another, but the latter half of the book tips the scales on Bunny until, believe it or not, we feel for the poor guy (and especially his progeny) before his sad demise. Fuck. Nick Cave is just an all-timer for me.

From the Darkness Right Under Our Feet Patrick Michael Finn - Holy shit. This is a ridiculously strong collection of short fiction about blue collar problems. It starts off strong and just keeps topping itself with human experience and pain that electrifies rather than depresses you. So absolutely my shit I'm embarrassed to admit it - I feel so exposed letting you know. Please seek it out and help make Finn a household name.

Gang of Lovers Massimo Carlotto - A joint venture between Carlotto's two series - The Alligator series and his Giorgio Pellegrini chronicles. Pitting the two against each other was a stroke of inevitable genius and I won't spoil the outcome even though a simple Google search reveals which series has subsequent titles. Let's just say Pellegrini is a singular creation and without a doubt my favorite between the two. If you haven't read The Goodbye Kiss and its sequel At the End of a Dull Day fucking please get on that shit as they are hardcore hardboiled and so rewarding.
Generation Loss - Elizabeth Hand - A photographer who made a reputation capturing the filth and fury of the late 70s bleeding into the 80s punk art scene (her part was photo-documentarian as opposed to the music or drug cultures) is called upon to create a portrait in pictures and words of her own hero and inspiration and is inadvertently drawn into the darkness of her subject's last days and death and left to solve the mystery which will deconstruct her own life. The first couple of chapters of Hand's series-launching Cass Neary title are print-form amphetamines with a narrative style as propulsive and addicting as the substances her characters ingest. Pretty soon the action slows down to a more 'normal'/acceptable publishing pace and it's fine. It's better than fine actually, but it's less than the opening quarter lead me to believe it could be.

The Good Son You-Jeong Jeong - Hey, lookit I reviewed this one for the Los Angeles Review of Books

He Died With His Eyes Open - Derek Raymond - I love this series. So grim and pitiless. So violent and having of heart. More like this please, world.

Homeboy - Seth Morgan - Nearly thirty years late to the party, but holy shit is Morgan's debut novel full of promise! I can't wait to dig in to the body of work that---- what?!? He died right after this one was published? Fuck. Welp, this was an amazing book that at least I didn't have to live through the disappointment that lackluster follow-ups would've created. Shit, though. This book was amazing.

In Case We Die - Danny Bland - File this one under "absolutely my shit" and just sign me up for whatever else is next from Bland. Yes, qualifies as crime fiction with many an illicit/illegal thrill to be had, but not really a classic example of what people who read thrillers want. It's so much more. Heartbreaker, heart-acher. Loved it.

In the Cut - Susanna Moore - Picked this one up on a whim having been in the mood to revisit Jane Campion's feature film adaptation for a bit. What I found the book to be was certainly a different experience than the film. but holy moley am I glad I had it. The ending especially is dynamite. I should try another Moore - anybody got a suggestion?

Sunday, February 24, 2019

The Katabasis of S. Craig Zahler

Just a few weeks away from finally getting to behold S. Craig Zahler's Dragged Across Concrete and my boner for it first reported in my interview with SCZ last year is still going strong (I know, I was supposed to contact a doctor a long time back, but who actually goes to doctors? Nobody I know can afford to). Trailer dropped this week and I gotta say I've been humming the SCZ/Jeff Herriot tune (I'm guessing is called) Shotgun Safari featured therein for days now.

Also last year Joseph Hirsch's My Tired Shadow came out and shit, I don't think I've plugged it yet. Don't sleep on Hirsch, kids, he's the goods. Anyway, I've got this here piece by Joey about his affinity for Zahler and it kinda seems like a perfect time to put it out in the world.

The Katabasis of S. Craig Zahler
by Joseph Hirsch

Maybe I’m a bit closed-minded, as I prefer to watch the same movies over and over again. Either that or I watch the news or some old Simpsons episodes. Give me a handful of Kubrick and Leone movies, plus a couple of dumb comedies, and I’m good. Occasionally I’ll get sucked into watching something with friends or family members, but I’ll usually start to tune it out and politely wait through the movie for the remainder of its runtime. Very rarely something new will break through the shell of indifference I sit in, and I’ll sit up and take note.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is one of those movies. Something about its pace, the performances, the music, and the laudanum-dreamlike quality of it just nestled in my brain, and I always find myself going back to it and blown away by its existence. It failed at the box-office because it was too good for the us. “We failed this movie,” as I think one retrospective piece on the movie had it.

Another movie that got through to me was Bone Tomahawk. It looked like a cut and dry Western at first blush (at least in terms of production values). The thing that kept me involved, though, was the dialogue. It didn’t just have snap and a rhythm to it; it had a pulp-educated quality to it, like a lot of the dialogue you hear in Tarantino movies. Whoever had written Bone Tomahawk had read their ass off. It was plainly evident in all the fluid and funny exchanges between the characters.

As the movie progressed and violence erupted, I forgot my previous, minor quibbles about the film and even forgot about that great dialogue. It is very rare, and only a few directors can bring it off, but by the time the film reached its climax and the horror unfolded, I was made to feel the violence on-screen, in my stomach and in my bones. I felt like I was back in Iraq; like when watching an Oliver Stone or a Scorsese film, or some of Spike Lee’s movies or Andrew Dominik’s pictures. The violence had a queasy nigh-sexual quality to it that makes one’s viscera squirm (I don’t know how to elaborate on this feeling more, but it’s hard to induce).

The movie, as it turned out, was made by a guy named S. Craig Zahler who’d written some novels I hadn’t read at that point.

His next movie, Brawl in Cell Block 99, either had a much bigger budget or Zahler’s hand as a director had become much steadier. Like with the best of Kubrick’s movies (or maybe Jim Jarmusch would be a better comparison here), Zahler has the ability to make you pay attention to the screen, to watch the movie even in those moments that are silent and should be dead air but for some reason are not when he’s behind the lens. Considering that film companies shell out billions for big stars and major effects and I fall asleep watching the end-product, this ability to give the screen a gravid meaning, a free-floating dread from which I can’t peel my eyes away, is no small thing.

The central performance by Vince Vaughn is the most hypnotically disturbing thing I’ve seen since …well, Taxi Driver. I don’t really have to wax a lot here or compose panegyrics to the man. I’ll just say that I’m not a Vince Vaughn fan, or that I wasn’t, until I saw Brawl. The movie, like its predecessor Bone Tomahawk, just has these gorgeous, deadpan exchanges between men who treat every interaction like combat, a pissing contest in which whoever gets the best and last quip is King of the Hill. The Vaughn character usually wins, but not always. He also gets the crap kicked out of him and does more than his fair share of crap-kicking-out-of, as well. The movie rides that fine line between humor and horror perfectly that Stephen King delineated so well in his book, Danse Macabre. Vaughn, like the Gabriel Byrne character in the Coens’ Millers’ Crossing, is a mix of Chaplin’s Tramp and Job from The Holy Bible. You wince for him, laugh with him, empathize with him, and then wince at what he does to others.

Brawl doesn’t so much have acts as infernal layers, going from grim to brutal to over-the-top terrifying, taking its sweet time to get there and never being boring for a moment. It makes no claims to realism and yet has its own weight and brimstone verisimilitude and hits some sort of primal, instinctive nerve that puts it in a category with very few horror movies, those like George A. Romero’s Dead films, the better offerings in the Alien franchise, or Jaws.

Revenge movies are a dime-a-dozen, but Brawl is one of the few times that I’ve felt a sort of surrogate instinct to protect someone else’s family while seeing them imperiled onscreen. Characterization is strong enough that by the time Vince Vaughn’s character is literally stomping a man’s head until it severs from his neck, you not only understand his motivation, but cheer him on, and hope he can break old boy’s head off with his boot before the Don Johnson character finishes his cigar, kicks the door down, and shoots him (did I really just write that sentence?). One of the last scenes, in which Vince Vaughn, weeping, says goodbye to his pregnant wife, is the grindhouse version of De Niro’s “I am not an animal” breakdown in Raging Bull, or the Terry Malloy “Contender” speech in On the Waterfront. It’s a small moment with an epic power and it’s unforgettable.

Weirdest and most miraculous of all, the movie has a topnotch soundtrack, featuring new songs by old R & B warhorses like The OJs, with lyrics written by …you guessed it, S. Craig Zahler.

I am usually not curious about the people who make movies (and I honestly don’t respect many of them), and I generally don’t care for men with ponytails (it’s a knee-jerk reaction, but I’m being honest). Having frontloaded those caveats and fired my birdshot from both barrels, though, let me just say that this Craig Zahler guy is, to quote the writer Charles Willeford, “an oddity of some magnitude,” and I mean that in a good way.  He does not seem to be a product of Tinseltown, but someone like, say, Steve Buscemi, who lived a full life before venturing into the land of make-believe. It seems to have given him an armored authenticity most directors lack, even those who make movies about tough men enduring tough times.

I’m glad he has a new movie coming out in 2019, and no, not a day has gone by since I saw Brawl that I haven’t at least contemplated Dragged Across Concrete (the title of his new one), and yes, it’s the only movie I’ve been looking forward to seeing next year. I generally don’t get excited for movies, and haven’t since I was a child waiting for Tim Burton’s Batman to hit the big screen, but I am waiting with bated breath for Zahler’s new one.

In Christopher Frayling’s book about Leone, Something to do with Death, the author described the reaction of fanatical moviegoers and cineastes who were blown away by Leone’s first Dollars movie, and who were frustrated and somewhat jealous that Leone managed to best himself with next outing, in turn also besting audience expectations. Leone’s genius pissed them off a bit, in a good way, and Zahler’s films have the same effect on me. I admire and envy them, and while it’s normal for me to feel that way sometimes about writers, it’s almost-unheard of for me to pay such attention to the current world of film.

Each of Herr Zahler’s films thus far have had a mythopoetic dimension to them, which brings me back to the title of this piece. “Katabasis” is a type of narrative in which a character (usually the hero) discovers something about himself by passing a test which requires going under or through some chthonic, Hades-like world or underworld, in order to redeem himself or rescue someone, or to do both. Bone Tomahawk features a katabasis in which a group of white men on the frontier meet the ultimate horror in the form of a group of indigenous cannibals who are pissed that their burial site has been disturbed; things get very, very gory inside a cave hewn into the face of a mountain. Brawl features a figurative and literal descent of a different topography but of a similar unnerving tenor, in which the Vince Vaughn character meets an old friend who’s in the dope game in his basement parlor, spends some time hiding underwater after a quayside drug deal goes bad, and then finally is cast into the belly of a dungeonlike prison run by a cruel warden, who keeps the worst cases- the psychos and chomos- in the deepest bowels of the gaol, in a torture chamber hidden behind a trap bookcase.

Ridiculous yes, but that Zahler is able to pull it off with a straight face and even make the whole underworld eschaton poignant is the film’s great achievement resting atop a heap of minor but cumulative miracles that give the tale its transcendent heft.

I don’t want to put the jinx on Zahler, and many directors have turned into mediocrities or journeymen after one or two truly great projects, but something tells me that this guy is following his muse straight to hell, and that Dragged will exceed my high expectations. And somewhere along the way the scuffling is going to be done underground. Maybe in a parking garage? 

Joseph Hirsch is the author of several novels including Rolling Country, Flash Blood and Kentucky Bestiary. He previously worked as a sports correspondent for Fight Hype covering boxing matches around the globe, and he was also a finalist in a Glimmer Train Short Story Award Competition for New Writers. He served four years in the U.S. Army, wherein his travels took him to Iraq and Germany. He currently lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. Keep up with him at his website.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Fiends Without Means

I'm not saying junkie fiction is my favorite genre.

No way, not even close. In fact I wouldn't say it's one that I feel particularly drawn to.

But then how do I explain the fact that a good percentage of my like super high scoring outstanding reads of the past several years land very comfortably within that subgenre? I dunno, but sheeeeeit these books fucking rocked my ass (and yeah, most of em are opiates, but I mean drug fiction in general - I'm square).

In Case We Die - Danny Bland - Yes it has crime elements to it including bank robbery and murder, but this story of a porno-shop clerk perpetually losing his heart and discovering he has a smidge more soul to sell fucking ripped my heart out. I know it's only February, but it's hard to imagine I'll love anything else this year so hard. Gah! Lovely.

Homeboy - Seth Morgan - Sweet sizzlin' savior did this thing have it all. Hard crime, hard time, equal parts humor and horror with enough heart to make the tough breaks ache and the prose stylings to make it pop. Story of a striptease barker at the eye of a storm of dirty secrets, deals and needles. Just one amazingly memorable character and line after another. Easily my favorite read of last year. One and done for Mr. Morgan who died shortly after publishing this first novel.















Another Day in Paradise / Steel Toes - Eddie Little - Comfortably crime fiction and sadly the only titles completed by Little before his death. Fuck me, another one + one = done for a brilliant crime writer. Don't worry, if you've seen the Larry Clark movie version of Another Day In Paradise it won't spoil the experience of digging into the books. In fact they're so much better than that film (which I love) you'll be glad you saw it first and can feel free to enjoy both the movie and the book.


Sick City / Black Neon / Dirty Hits - Tony O'Neill - The first two are novels that are linked by characters, but not necessarily sequels and the other a collection of short fiction, but O'Neill has a few more titles I've not yet read. Based on the raw power of these though, I will be working my way through his body of work like a hot shot.













Dope Thief / Wolves of Fairmount Park - Dennis Tafoya - Crime fiction absolutely, but so much heart and hurt on the pages you could remove the armed robbery and murder and still have compelling reasons to turn the pages. Dirty characters, clean prose and somehow this guy hasn't become a gajillionaire bestseller yet. Dennis, dude... what's next and when?

Cherry - Nico Walker - Last year I also read this first novel of dirtbaggery in the armed forces, armed robbery and everyday hoodrattery. The tone shifts hard and the plot lurches and stalls like a badass junker or a skeez-fucked junkie - sometimes it's spinning wheels, but sometimes the gears catch and all that muscle picks you up and carries you away. Sometimes it really sings.

Stark - Edward Bunker - I suspect this one contains a bit more memoir as fiction than some of his other (better) books. There's probably a reason it wasn't published before he died, but c'mon, I'm gonna read posthumously printed Eddie, you'd better believe it.

Bad Sex on Speed - Jerry Stahl - This collection of short fiction covers the crank side of Stahl's impressive narco-awareness. Ho, shit, it's wild. There's enough amphetamine dust on the page to give you a fuckin sharp secondhand buzz and a harsh comedown later.

The Heroin Chronicles - Jerry Stahl ed. - So maybe follow it up with this terrific collection edited by Stahl and featuring stories by Gary Phillips, Lydia Lunch, Eric Bogosian, Nick Tosches, Nathan Larson, Zoe Hansen, Tony O'Neill(!) and more. Yeah, I dig those Akashic drug chronicles collections too.

Monday, February 4, 2019

2018 Crime Flick Picks: Honorable Mentions

Earlier I talked up my favorite ten crime flicks from 2018 and, like every year, it included a lot of obvious choices, but I like to follow up with the 11-20 slots 'cause hisotically that's where I can get into a few that may've slipped through the cracks. Here they are in alphabetical order.

American Animals - Bart Layton - True story of a group of suburban boys taking their shot at greatness by stealing some valuable books from a library and selling them to European gangsters told in a combination of dramatic recreation and talking head interviews with the real life characters (offenders, victims, family members). It's funny, alarming, suspenseful and manages to leave room for competing reactions like amusement, dread and withering scorn. Layton, the dude who made the great true crime doc The Imposter a few years ago is back with another true crime tale that plays with documentary/drama form and has impressive results

BuyBust - Erik Matti - Matti's been burning up my radar since On the Job and this one is another terrific Manila-set thriller that just doesn't let up. It suffers slightly from coming out the same year as The Night Comes For Us and also drawing predictable comparisons to The Raid, but there's no way this one isn't a great time for fans of those films too. So excited to see a sequel to On the Job is on the way!

The Euthanizer - Teemu Nikki - A mechanic whose sideline is euthanizing pets goes about his work in a humane and unflinching manner, but when some nazi assholes get in his way it's quickly apparent that he treats animals much kinder than people. Nikki is new to me, but I will definitely be catching up on his work after this one. Puzzling out the very specific code of honor the protagonist lives and dies by is a sometimes harrowing sometimes hilarious experience


Kills on Wheels - Attila Till - Two wheelchair bound boys find a mentor of sorts in a disabled gangster/hitman who takes them on as apprentices. It's a helluva premise and mostly works with utter nihilism not quite overtaking a healthy dose of teenaged fuck-the-world angst. The last ten minutes are a little disappointing, but make sense out of questions bothering me in the structure, and won't keep me from enjoying a revisit in the future

Let the Corpses TanHélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani - another exercise in extremely stylized and sensual violence and mayhem that's a whole lotta gonzo fun from the duo responsible for AMER and others. Based on the novel by Jean-Patrick Manchette

Like Me - Robert Mockler - This crime-spree/social media satire pushes the low-fi/hi-concept visuals to eleven. Addison Timlin and Larry Fessenden's kidnapper/kidnappee couple on the run are one of the best onscreen duos of the year. Never quite know where it's going

Lowlife - Ryan Prows - Prows projects leap to the top of my what the fuck comes next list after this mulit-narrative-strands gonzo crime/horror mashup feature debut. Whoa.


Sollers Point - Matthew Porterfield - This man out of prison flick is a crime and consequence drama whose low-key thriller elements nicely balance the will he/won't he get his life together elements that can feel preachy in so many other films - nice trick

Superfly - Director X - This update/remake is all attitude and style and if you do it right you'll not stop to think things through before you're whisked off to the next outrageous set piece. More fun than it has any business being. Imagine if Hype Williams watched a bunch of Michael Mann movies and decided that was what he was going for next

Unsane - Steven Soderbergh - Low-fi, slow burn psychological thriller - probably the best of its kind since Side Effects. If this is what retirement looks like here's hoping he quits again.

Thursday, January 31, 2019

The Assassination of Gianni Versace by the Coward Andrew Cunanan

Watched The Assassination of Gianni Versace and after 2 seasons of being sucked into true crime dramas based on stories I didn't think I had any interest in I'm ready to call American Crime Story on FX something special.
Noticed the Versace season was written by Tom Rob Smith which makes two TV mini series from him I've enjoyed (also London Spy). Nice to see a novelist I dug (the Leo Demidov trilogy - Child 44, The Secret Speech, Agent 6) make a successful medium swap and have a distinct voice that's different from the one I enjoyed in their books.

The Versace family have the big names in casting - Edgar Ramirez (whom I'm still waiting for a really great English language role from - after Carlos I was sure he was gonna be huge), Penelope Cruz and Ricky Martin (who knew? I didn't. Was halfway through the season before I looked up who that guy was).

But the real standout performances are in the killer's story line.

Darren Criss as Andrew Cunanan comes across like a cross between Patrick Bateman and Tom Ripley a social climber smart enough and smooth enough to get places, but hounded so fiercely by vanity, jealousy and insecurity never to stay put or leave good enough alone. He's a monster, but there's just enough real pain in his life that the waste of it is human tragedy.

The structure of the season allows for dimension to be added to him slowly for maximum emotional payoff - a payoff frankly I didn't think they could pull off. I'm not sure if Maureen Orth's book Vulgar Favors (the basis of the season) follows a similar structure, but I doubt the televised version would be half as effective if presented in strict chronological order.

If he'd not killed Gianni Versace nobody would care about Cunanan's other victims and that's where the real heart of the story lay for me. The human wreckage is well-observed in the latter episodes and I'm happy I had the opportunity to watch the season in a week rather than over the course of a couple of months through appointment viewing.

In particular Jeff Trail (played by Finn Wittrock) emerged as a character of real interest. I don't know how accurate any of the portrayals are (you can investigate if you like - I looked at this piece on TooFab which includes the CBS interview with Trail about gays in the military during the era of Don't Ask Don't Tell) - but jeez, what a heartbreak of a story his was.

What will season 3 focus on? Don't care. At this point I'm tuning in (or y'know going to watch it when it's on Netflix) because it's clear the producers have way different instincts for crime stories than I do - especially the glitz and glamour of high-profile stories - but also the skill to tell those stories in ways I find compelling. Maybe I'm a sucker.