Praise of Folly

Maybe eleven or thirteen feet, tops

Erasmus and Mrs. E. caught The Whole Ten Yards at the theater this evening, despite its poor reviews, out of a sentimental loyalty to the first movie, which we both considered underrated and droll. While the sequel may be underrated, it's likely only so because it's hard to be lower-rated than five-percent positive.

The movie was not anywhere near as good as its predecessor, and truthfully, not very good. It wasn't as unenjoyable as one might be led to believe from the reviews, but the script is simultaneously underwritten and overcomplicated. While the writers did a fairly good job at continuing the characters in a reasonably familiar form from the first movie (though Amanda Peet's suffers most noticeably, and Bruce Willis's motivations remain so foggy, one gives up trying to figure out when he's lying, conning, or just strange), they also decided to keep and expand upon perhaps the least-funny running gag in the first movie, Kevin Pollack's "comical" mispronunciation of various words as a "Hungarian" gangster with an indeterminate, shifting accent. (Scribes of the future, please remember, we all know what a Hungarian accent sounds like. Béla Lugosi in Dracula. Peter Lorre in anything. The Gabor Sisters.)

Pollack is back as the previous character's father, in some genuinely terrific makeup. The father, of course, has the same "Hungarian" accent. The only words of Hungarian, incidentally, in either film, are spoken in Ten by an elderly woman who may be the gangster's father's mother. She's 106 years old, we're told, and then asked to laugh repeatedly at her malodorous flatulence. Wocka wocka.

Erasmus wanted to like the movie, but instead was forced to conclude

Non placet.

Screw the chicken, I'm going to save that bitch's marriage

Courtesy of the VCR, Erasmus was able to enjoy two episodes of series recently cancelled by networks. First was "Pink Flamingos," the final aired episode of Wonderfalls, late of Fox. It had all the hallmarks of the show: good writing; vivid photography, scene dressing, and lighting; and good acting, highlighted by the terrific performance of the lovely Québécoise, Caroline Dhavernas. Miss Dhavernas will likely have a very successful acting career, carrying over to film, as during the run she executed any number of emotionally complex reaction shots (often quite comedic) in close-up. The episode also guest-starred the extraordinary Kari Matchett, whose talents may be seen to the fullest on A&E's Nero Wolfe. (A show worthy of several posts itself.)

Erasmus is greatly saddened to see Wonderfalls depart, but he thinks he understands why it failed to capture a viewership. The show did not have an easily-identifiable "franchise," that is, a governing concept (was it a family show? workplace? etc.) which let viewers know what it was in for. Its actual governing concept was fundamentally philosophical, the comforting notion that although we are at the mercy of fate (or as Mahandra paraphrased Jaye, "the universe's butt-puppet"), Providence is benevolent and things work out in the end. It's the type of show that's difficult to describe to a potential viewer: "Ok, there's this over-educated, underemployed girl who starts hearing inanimate animals talk..." One would much rather say, "Here, watch this," and let people enjoy its charms. Word-of-mouth takes time to build. Despite near-unanimous praise from TV critics, almost no one watched it. Did Fox fail in promotion? Is it a testament to the limits of criticism? No doubt both of those and more. And was Fox criminally premature in yanking it? Absolutely. Only four of the thirteen episodes produced aired. Could the show have been saved? I suspect so, given how good it was. Will someone bring it back? Let us hope.

The second show Erasmus caught was "No One's Girl," the ninth of ten Karen Sisco episodes. Erasmus is more puzzled as to why this show failed to stay on ABC past seven episodes. He hopes that whoever cancelled it lost his or her job in the recent management purge over there. Gorgeous visuals, a terrific cast, and good, solid crime-show writing interlaced with humor and subtle character development. The regulars, Carla Gugino, Bill Duke, and Robert Forster, are as good or better than any set of principals on television. And that Miss Gugino is flat-out gorgeous, and shot so, couldn't have hurt its prospects. (Erasmus had seen Miss Gugino in some other vehicles, and considered her attractive, but he was somewhat surprised when Bill Simmons, sportswriter-cum-Jimmy Kimmel-staffer, cited her as the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen in person. The director of photography on Karen Sisco has removed all Erasmus's doubts.)

Even the guest stars on Karen Sisco were consistently good. "No One's Girl" featured the always-reliable D.B. Sweeney as well as Kate Walsh, who's been good everywhere from The Drew Carey Show to Law & Order.

Erasmus highly recommends seeking out these shows wherever possible. USA still shows the ten Sisco episodes, and perhaps they or Bravo or a like-minded cable channel will air the nine Wonderfalls Fox chose not to.

And the Creek do rise!

Erasmus, though still ailing, was more than a little reinvigorated by the return of one of his all-time favorite mystery series, the BBC's Jonathan Creek last evening on BBC America.

A nice summary of the show's appeal and a little preview of Satan's Chimney, the two-hour movie which kicked off the fourth season's run appeared here. Erasmus generally agrees with the author's remarks, though he would also note that the show does occasionally suffer from the weakness inherent to the howdunit genre: the improbability of its scenarios can test one's suspension of disbelief, however willingly. Mystery writers and many readers disdain this as mere gimmickry and claim that it is the reason that Golden Age-style locked-room mysteries have disappeared from the scene.

While there is an element of truth to this, Erasmus believes that their disappearance is less due to the inherent weakness of the conceit (carried out in superb, contemporary style in Jonathan Creek), but simply to a shift in public taste. The readership of mysteries has democratized and, with the rest of the culture, been vulgarized. In some ways, this has helped the genre produce better, more truthful novels, rather than the stereotypical who-topped-the-countess-at-the-house-party of the 1930s. But this is only true of the best mystery novelists who try and infuse their works with the stuff of real life. (The wonderful D.C. novels of George P. Pelecanos come to mind here, although he occasionally slips into polemic mode, as in Soul Circus, undermining the nuanced realism of which he's a master.)

The hacks, on the other hand, merely ape the style of the moment, whether Mannered Elegant Man-About-Town Solving Clever Bloodless Tricky Crimes or Blood-Soaked Forensic Grind Catching Sexually Perverse Serial Killer. And the vulgarization of tastes has driven the mystery genre to two extremes, which one might characterize as masculine and feminine, though their authors and authoresses and devotés and devotées frequently cross the "sex" line. The masculine mysteries are full of blood, violence, and justice delivered or denied, often at the point of a gun. The feminine are bloodless, often include humor, and tend towards the classical mystery catharsis: the restoration of order after an irruption.

What brings literary quality to a mystery is the same as which brings it to any work of fiction. Sharply observed context, richly described, and characters with well-limned, emotionally and intellectually compelling personalities.

And this is where Jonathan Creek comes back in. David Remnick, who writes the series, does a very good job, for the most part, in creating interesting characters whose motivations generally surround and make believable the outré methods brought to bear to create the impossible crimes that the eponymous Jonathan Creek solves. Some episodes do it better than others, and one might wish that the BBC would adopt a more professional attitude towards television production, with staffs of writers, which, while potentially diluting the singular voice of a show like Jonathan Creek, might simultaneously enliven and strengthen the scripts through the input of writers with varying strengths.

Finally, one note on a curious constant from Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot to Jonathan Creek. They almost never meet an American worth crossing the street for. The Colonials still tend to be oblivious naïfs or sinister fanatics (perhaps recalling Doyle's Study in Scarlet Mormons?), moneyed bumpkins, or the like. Erasmus is always amused by Britons whinging about Hollywood's using them as villains, without their turning a hair at their own use of Americans as stock idiots.

That said...

Jonathan Creek

Ave!

David Remnick

Ave.

And Saffy, darling, lovely to see you on the telly again!

Sick & Tired

Erasmus apologizes for the infrequency of posting of late. He's sick, busy, and tired. And he's mostly watching hockey on TV during his convalescence. Have you rented Clockwise yet? I didn't think so.

John Archibald Dortmunder

Our Girl in Chicago, crush object of all male (and many female) literary bloggers the world around, proves once again how worthy of their love she is, with this terrific post about a new Donald Westlake collection, with a link to a complete short-short story.

If you haven't read any of the Dortmunder books, hie thee to a bookery and do so immediately. Also grab some of Westlake's Parker books, written under the name Richard Stark. Then boggle at his versatility, professionalism, economy, and style.

Donald E., ave, ave, ave.

OGIC, admirata estis.

Perhaps Erasmus Needs TiVo

Erasmus apologizes for the lack of postings of late. The weekend was busy, TV is in re-runs, and his current reading is in a foreign language, so it's slowing him down appreciably.

Given that, Erasmus would like to bring to your attention the most serious schedule conflict on cable today. While The Daily Show is an entertaining standby for the 11 ET timeslot, Erasmus finds himself torn between two great sitcoms that run opposite it, on two networks he normally does not watch. The sitcoms were both treated very poorly by NBC and Fox, respectively, during their runs, and are currently aired on the Biography Channel (who appear to have acquired it via sibling A&E) and the Cartoon Network.

The shows, which share an occult connection, are the terrific NewsRadio and Futurama.

NewsRadio single-handedly revived the workplace sitcom, being followed within a year or two by various inferior imitations, like Working and Suddenly Susan. It featured a very talented cast and, in its first three or so seasons, some of the sharpest writing on television. Alas, NBC never seemed to know what to do with it, moving it from timeslot to timeslot, and it persisted only in a uncertain, season-to-season renewal limbo to which the writers, with characteristic verve, wrote stand-alone, farcical season finales (sending up themselves in a science-fiction setting or on board the Titanic) which could serve as series finales, if need be. The show suffered a catastrophic blow with the death of Phil Hartman, the show's best-known actor, at the hands of his deranged wife. While the show recovered with aplomb in an episode in which the characters learned of the untimely death of Hartman's character Bill McNeil, Hartman was replaced by Jon Lovitz whose character, Max Louis, proved a cipher to the writers and viewers alike. In a bitter irony, just as the show seemed to be regrouping at the end of its fifth season, with series creator Paul Simms arriving with a bold reconceptulization of the show (to distinguish it from the then-thick crowd of office comedies which had sprung up around it), the writers had enough confidence to pen a cliff-hanger ending, only to be cancelled by NBC shortly after its airing. Its talented cast have done well subsequently, with Maura Tierney, a fine actress, achieving small-screen stardom as ER's lead.

The much-better-known Futurama never escaped its reputation as a Simpsons "spinoff," though it was nothing of the sort. Indeed, for a number of years, its writing was far better than the latter, which soldiered on institutionally in its late, decadent phase when the late, great Troy McClure's words "Who knows what adventures they'll have between now and the time the show becomes unprofitable?" echoed weekly. (Erasmus is happy to note an apparent revival in The Simpsons this year, but that's another post.) Like NBC with NewsRadio, Fox never seemed to know where to put Futurama, eventually parking it in the 7-8 ET hour, where it was regularly preëmpted by sports and other events. Fox's fine King of the Hill survived such treatment, although its fundamental accessibility as a family-based sitcom likely helped it out in this regard. Futurama packed its smart, funny, often erudite jokes, into a science-fiction milieu which likely put some off, alas.

Futurama's first three seasons are available on DVDs which are as well-produced and interestingly put together as those of The Simpsons. NewsRadio's fans got it chosen for DVD by Sony Pictures in a recent on-line poll. The first season or two would have been out already, if Sony's original bare-bones plans had proceeded. Fortunately, the show's creator, Paul Simms, heard of the plans and contacted Sony in order to offer assistance with adding more materials, commentaries, etc., to the discs. Sony accepted and the discs should appear at some point later this year. Erasmus encourages anyone who enjoys comedies to purchase them, not least because the initial discs' success will determine if later seasons appear. And Erasmus wants 'em all.

Finally, close readers (Erasmus knows this implies he has any readers at all, but indulge him) will have noticed the suggestion of a hidden connection between NewsRadio and Futurama. That connection was Phil Hartman, who was originally supposed to provide the voice of Zap Branagan, and after whom Fry received the Christian name Philip.

Requiescat in pace.

Hit me where I ain't

Erasmus apologizes to his (largely hypothetical) readership for his absence this week. He hasn't been able to get to a computer, and isn't really caught up on his TV viewing. (Though he did catch Keen Eddie's "Keeping Up Appearances" for the first time and enjoyed it very much. I won't go into detail, given the surfeit of Eddie hereabouts.)

Erasmus is deeply saddened to note that Fox has unsurprisingly given Wonderfalls its quietus. Requiescat in pace. And Eastertide hopes for its resurrection elsewhere.

Although it leans towards the higher realms of culture, Erasmus will leave you with this interview of Michael Frayn, one of ER's favorite novelists (and playwrights and screenwriter).

Erasmus wishes all Sancta Pascha. Go rent Clockwise.

Non adversus dæmones

Erasmus is married to a lovely woman who has a fondness for comic-book adaptations. To the degree that we own The Phantom on DVD.

Hence it was nigh inevitable that we would see Hellboy, an adaptation of the Mike Mignola comic with which servus vester was utterly unacquainted, other than by reputation.

Erasmus is, however, a fan of Guillermo del Toro, particularly his eleganty creepy Cronos, an original take on the vampire movie. Since coming Hollywood, his Mimic and Blade II have been less intellectually venturesome, but well-made genre films. Del Toro used Ron Perlman to excellent effect in the latter movie, and does so again in Hellboy, giving him the lead.

Overall, Erasmus enjoyed the film, which was clearly heavily influenced (either in the original or in del Toro's adaptation) by the school of H.P. Lovecraft, for whom Erasmus harbors a guilty affection. (Tentacled Gods from Other Dimensions feature prominently.) Erasmus would have wished for a slightly more talky screenplay, as the eponymous demon is a winning and interesting character. One left wanting more time with him and his cohorts and less wrestling with demonic beasts. (And one or two plot holes filled.)

Nevertheless, for devotés (as, Mrs. E. aside, they're likely mostly men) of the genre, it's a worthy addition. For anyone not inclined to like it going in, I suspect it will prove a mixed experience.

Erasmus was also entertained by the invoking of St. Dionysius the Aeropagite and the general invocation of Catholicism, which is clearly the preferred variety of Christianity in horror movies, a tradition that Stephen Sommers' Van Helsing seems likely to continue. (Though said movie looks very unpromising. Alas. Dr. Abraham van Helsing, M.D., D.Ph., D. Lit., &c. &c. &c., is one of Erasmus's favorite Netherlandish countrymen.)

Lastly, Erasmus is compelled to mention that the film's epigraph misspells its source. Ludvig Prinn's forbidden tome is in (almost incomprehensible) Latin—De Vermis Mysteriis—not French, as the des in the epigraph falsely implies.

Erasmus hesitates to declaim ave to Hellboy, but will admit...

Placet.

Trading Cathode Rays for Typefaces

Of late, Erasmus has been spending time posting about TV exclusively. He feels vaguely guilty thereabout, despite the fact that his purpose hereabouts is to find the worthwhile bits of popular culture amid the ruins, and TV has the lowest signal-to-noise ratio.

That said, popular fiction deserves its fair share, as it consumes a huge portion of Erasmus's free time as well. So, without getting too encyclopædic, what's worth reading these days?

First, the great Gregory Mcdonald has his Fletch and Flynn books reissued by Vintage. Zip over to Amazon and buy 'em by the handful.

Erasmus is rereading them for the first time in, urk, fifteen or twenty years and is very pleasantly surprised. They're much better than he remembered their being; and his memory said they were quite good. George V. Higgins is often given credit for the almost-entirely-dialogue style in his novels like The Friends of Eddie Coyle, and Erasmus gives him all due praise. However, Erasmus also finds that in many of Higgins' novels the style becomes a tic and an end in itself, with all sorts of unlikely statements being horned into increasingly artificial monologues that tend to glaze the eyes after a while. Mcdonald pulls off the trick much more successfully, in Erasmus's opinion, with a surer hand, lighter touch, and better ear for the way people actually speak. De gustibus, but Erasmus suspects this is another example of critics devaluing writing because it happens to be funny. In Higgins (who, to be sure, can be very good), one sees the artifice, and one can more comfortably conclude, "Ah, this be lit'r'ry," and pull the chin-whiskers. In Mcdonald, you're laughing so hard you can miss the extraordinary skill, concision, and deftness of prose.

Erasmus also just finished Cornell Woolrich's Rendezvous in Black, drawn by Woolrich, whom he'd never read and had heard of as a Lost Master of Noir. An introduction by Richard Dooling, whom Erasmus considers one of the most talented and interesting contemporary American novelists, sealed the deal. Erasmus wasn't enraptured by the book, but appreciated its hallucinatory, pitch-black tone. Most of the characters possess very little in the way of interior lives, which likely explains Hollywood's love for adapting Woolrich's works.

Erasmus has to say, though, that he was more than a little bewildered to learn that Dooling is working on Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital. While Erasmus would certainly not turn down some of that sweet, sweet TV money, the incongruity in his mind of a writer of Dooling's order working on a by-all-reports-schlocky TV project spun off a writer much his inferior* makes Erasmus reach for the Excedrin.

Last, for now, since Erasmus realizes he's rambling at length, Erasmus knocked off Henning Mankell's latest in English, The Return of the Dancing Master. It's not up to the level of his Kurt Wallander series, particularly in the main character who never really gels as a complete person, but it's an interesting contribution to the generally high-quality mystery fiction coming out of Sweden. Håkan Nesser (whose works are set in the Netherlands and aren't yet available in English) is another modern author keeping the literary Swedish mystery alive, in the tradition of Maj Sjövall & Per Wahlöö (without the latter duo's engagé politics).

Ave.

*No disrespect to Stephen King. His output is astonishing and not to be mocked. Moreover, he's probably one of the best writer-writers among the Massive Bestseller Crew.

Tune in...

...to Wonderfalls tonight on Fox at 9:00 ET. It's a clever little show that may go the way of the dodo not too long from now. (Of course, we can hope that if it does, some kind network will regenerate it, like Thursday Next's pet Pickwick.)