Archive for Donald Westlake

Film Directors with Their Shirts Off: #165 John Boorman

Posted in FILM, literature, Television with tags , , , , , , , on September 12, 2018 by dcairns

The latest in our occasional series on underdressed film directors. Because YOU demanded it! A fully nude John Boorman, appearing in his daughter’s documentary, ME AND MY DAD. Well, he got her to disrobe for EXCALIBUR, so it only seems fair for him to return the favour.

I was initially a bit frustrated with this film. Katrine Boorman starts out knowing nothing about filmmaking, it seems, not even how to set up a tripod straight. The entertainment comes from grumpy Dad’s irritation at her amateurishness, and his inability to stop directing his director. Also, she’s one of those people whose words don’t actually make any sense, but you know what they mean. So, as a storyteller she has a double handicap, but she certainly has access. And some great characters, with her mother, Boorman’s German ex-wife, high on that list. She’s a very sympathetic interviewee, solo, but then a family gathering is staged and the dynamics get really weird… It turns into a mini-version of FESTEN.

But, to my surprise, as the film went on I got over my own pedantic objections and warmed to Katrine’s approach. Her very inexperience works as a brilliant provocation to bring out all her dad’s worst qualities. Though he gets more and more likable too. You wouldn’t always know the man had a very strong sense of humour from his films — EXCALIBUR, in particular, seems to have no notion that any of this sex-in-plate-armour stuff could be perceived as comical. And then there’s ZARDOZ, which is only funny when it’s trying to be serious, and as for  EXORCIST II: THE HERETIC…

(But POINT BLANK still contains some trace of original author Donald Westlake’s sensibility, which finds amusement in everything — his Richard Stark books just conceal the comic plotting with hardboiled deadpan. Curiously, many of the movie’s most Westlakian aspects owe nothing to the source novel. But I think the screenplay, and Boorman’s approach, somehow picked up a little of Westlake’s literary DNA. Plus, I just watched Boorman’s THE GENERAL, which is maybe TOO funny. More on that soon.)

Boorman’s a pretty funny guy, Why haven’t I read his autobio?

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The Haul

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , on June 16, 2018 by dcairns

My support of Leith’s charity shops may be getting out of hand. This is the result of a single traipse up Leith Walk, stopping in at eight or so shops. I don’t think anything cost over a pound. Still, if I added up my month’s outgoings I might get a shock.

The stack of Hitchcock paperbacks, many of them stamped with the marks of defunct second-hand bookshops I frequented in my youth, contain stories by favourites Gerald Kersh, Donald Westlake, Frederic Brown and others. I only bought a third of the stock. I may have to go back for the others, though, if they’re still there.

I won’t keep everything here — I can imagine myself watching WALL STREET — morbid curiosity, I’ve never seen it — and then giving it away. But then, I can imagine myself never watching it, which would mean I’d be stuck with it, eating up shelf space.

I’d been looking for copies of THE GODFATHER films for ages, and they turn up fairly frequently, but always scratched. These ones seem to be in good nick, so I now have the complete set — I and II.

The other day I went out specially for a copy of Nic Roeg’s THE WITCHES because I’d realised I didn’t own it and The Shadow Trap podcast made me want to revisit it, or at least the opening scenes. I came back with nine films.

 

Ugh, Mr. Porter

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 10, 2017 by dcairns

OK, so I looked at PAYBACK, Brian Helgeland’s 1996 version of Richard Stark/Donald Westlake’s The Hunter. I even looked at the director’s cut as well as the original release. I’ll do it the courtesy of not calling it a remake of John Boorman’s ice-cool 1968 version, POINT BLANK, because it does go back to the book.

Superficially the film is a lot closer to the novel than Boorman’s take, beginning with our protagonist — Parker in the book, Walker in the Boorman, and the softer-sound Porter in this version — walking across the George Washington Bridge. I’ll say up front that in terms of quality, there’s not much to choose between the two edits of this one. Helgeland compromised Stark’s version of Parker, just as he understandably had to compromise James Ellroy’s characters and ending in L.A. CONFIDENTIAL, so the thing would get made. Mel Gibson’s version of his film compromises a bit more, is all.

The film looks gritty — while Boorman colour-coded like crazy, Antonioni-style, Helgeland simply spray-paints the sets, locations, costumes and actors an even gun-metal hue. This might be called ONE SHADE OF GRAY. It makes for a distinctive, consistent but ultimately rather claustrophobic look. Nothing is the colour of nature. Ideally, Helgeland would probably have liked to make his modern noir in b&w, but desaturated digital dye-jobs like this do tend to make us feel “starved of Technicolor” as Marius Goring once put it.

The really pathetic material is the sadomasochistic mucking about between baddie Gregg Henry (Stark’s Mal Resnick, renamed Val Resnick — how to explain this scattershot renaming?) and Lucy Liu. Stark makes his villain truly hateful via his mistreatment of his junky girlfriend/hooker/victim. Here we get a farrago of BDSM with the petite LL exchanging passionate punches with the overblown GH. It has nothing to do with real kink, and it makes an already rather weak villain seem silly.

Gregg H.’s bosses turn out to be a starry bunch, escalating from William Devane to Kris Kristofferson all the way to an uncredited James Coburn. Pat Garrett AND Billy the Kid. (The ’96 release also has an uncredited Elizabeth Berridge — remember her from AMADEUS?)

The original release gives Deborah Kara Unger almost nothing to do and the director’s cut reinstates her key scene, which is nevertheless not as effective as the version in the book or the Boorman — because the filmmakers are determined to soften the hero, even though his ruthlessness is in fact his U.S.P. for anyone who’s read the Parker books. Then Maria Bello turns up, looking too much like Unger, and softens things further by becoming romantic interest.

The 2006 director’s cut has a more downbeat end, where maybe Porter isn’t looking so good, while the Gibson version keeps him healthy-ish but subjects him to some protracted torture because Mel is into that, at least cinematically. Making the villain in the picture a masochist seems like Gibson projecting his own cravings into another figure in order to achieve some distance from them, whereas the hammer to the toes sequence seems like Gibson wallowing in tendencies which have achieved ample expression in the LETHAL WEAPON series, BRAVEHEART, and of course THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST…