Max Allan Collins's Blog, page 32

Killing Quarry and an Unlikely Movie Trilogy

Paperback:

E-Book:

Audible:

Killing Quarry from Hard Case Crime is available now, both at brick-and-mortar venues (you remember them – “stores”) and online from the usual suspects.

I’m happy to say that the reviews have been very good so far, and I’ll share links to some at the end of this update. Nothing from the trades yet – Publisher’s Weekly, Kirkus, Booklist and Library Journal – and we may not get any, either, as entries in long-running series are often overlooked.

Also available now is the audio of Killing Quarry, read by the masterful Stefan Rudnicki, who has been narrating Mike Hammer of late, too, and who did a multiple-award-winning job on Scarface and the Untouchable. Barb and I haven’t listened to Killing Quarry yet, as we’re saving it for a next car trip. But I’m sure Stefan did his usual great job.

For those wondering where this fits into the chronology, Killing Quarry is the final “list” book, though I may do that theme again, earlier in the chronology. I jump around a lot. As I prepare to write the follow-up to Spree in what will be the first Nolan novel in decades, I intend to keep it in period much as I have the Quarry books written after The Last Quarry.

If you think you’re confused, imagine how I feel.

* * *

Barb and I went to two movies recently, Midway and Ford V Ferrari, which with Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood to form a kind of trilogy in my mind. I will explain after a few words about those first two.

Midway is a first-rate look at the famous battle and everything that led up to it (Pearl Harbor, Doolittle’s raid on Toyko); all of the characters are based on real people. It’s a film worth seeing on a big screen, and to these eyes – supposedly 20/20 with my glasses on – the CGI is impressive, the scope and the nastiness of the action spelled out, sometimes chillingly. The cast is fine, with Patrick Wilson, Woody Harrelson, Aaron Eckhart and Dennis Quaid standouts, and boy band star Nick Jonas doing well, too – of course, you must factor in that I think Rick Nelson is wonderful in Rio Bravo.

Despite what some of the reviews (particularly the bad ones) say, this Midway is not a remake of the 1976 film of that name, which had an incredibly stellar cast (Henry Fonda, Hal Holbrook, Robert Mitchum, Glenn Ford and on and on) in a cut-and-paste affair marked by combat photography, stock footage, and rear-projection.

The critical hostility toward Midway almost certainly has to do with its director, Roland Emmerich, who is known for big-budget, visually impressive, but hokey if entertaining fare like Independence Day and White House Down. This film seems solid on its history and does not indulge in the soap opera tactics that torpedoed Michael Bay’s Pearl Harbor.

It’s worth seeing.

Ford V Ferrari, on the other hand, is essential viewing. The leads, Christian Bale as driving legend Ken Miles and Matt Damon as sports car designer Carroll Shelby, dominate the screen at least as thoroughly as the racing action that makes seeing this in a theatrical setting a must. The friendship of Bale and Damon is the heart of the film, and despite all the speed and thrills, it’s a character study of both Miles and Shelby. Bale is so winningly over-the-top that it’s hard not to love his character, and to be impressed by his performance. Damon, in his quiet way, is just as good.

The plot hangs on a rivalry between the men who ran Ford and Ferrari respectively, and how Henry Ford the Second’s desire to show up Enzo Ferrari had the American auto manufacturer putting together a racing team to do it. Simple as that premise is, director James Mangold and writers Jex Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth and Jason Keller create conflicts and humor enough for half a dozen good films. The depiction of Ford II (Tracy Letts) and his staff, including a hilariously sycophantic Josh Lucas (“Have a good dinner, sir!”) and a budding automotive giant named Lee Iacocca, well-played by Jon Bernthal, is painfully familiar to any of us who have ever had to deal with “suits” to realize our dreams.

So what makes a trilogy out of Midway, Ford V Ferrari and Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood? Well, Ferrari is almost a companion piece to Hollywood, in its spot on depiction of the ‘60s (albeit slightly earlier) with music and cars and billboards, among much else, putting it over. And Midway similarly takes us on a time machine ride (although, in fairness, Tarantino does the most thorough job of it and, of course, the most stylish).

Taken together, these three films make a point, perhaps intentionally or maybe not. But in the current political climate, they remind us that the only way we can feel good about America right now is to look in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Here are the Killing Quarry reviews, as promised.

First up, this short but sweet (and illustrated!) one from Jessicamap reviews.

Here’s a great one from the UK’s Shots by Mike Stotter.

Geek Hard delivers this beauty.

Here’s a solid one from the Warrendale Detroit Blog.

Finally, here’s a fantastic one from Bookreporter.com.

M.A.C.

Friendly Fire

You may have heard that I put my foot in it at Bouchercon last week, which is very much the case. I have apologized on Facebook and elsewhere, but I wanted to do that here as well, since this is where I interact with my readers, who are nice enough to care about what I’m up to.

I’ll get to the apology soon enough, but I want to provide some context. Doing so risks being accused of trying to justify what I said, but the unjustifiable cannot by definition be justified. I have been reminded that words matter, and as a wordsmith I believe I already know that, or should. But without context, words just float there, causing trouble.

At Bouchercon last week I presented the Best Novel “Shamus” award. This came at the end of a longer day than is advisable for somebody my age with my recent health history. Barb and I skipped Thursday, the first day of the convention, because it fell on Halloween and we wanted to give out the usual treats and have the fun of spending some time with our two grandkids. That had us getting up at 4 a.m on Friday. Barb was very ill, with a terrible cough; I’d had the same cold but was in the latter stages. At the con, she came out of the hotel room only for a few key events, including the Private Eye Writers of America banquet. She shook no hands.

I spent that first day in meetings with editors and publishers, and we were late for the banquet because one of my obligations (a pleasant one) was stopping by the Thomas & Mercer cocktail party. I’m pretty much a non-drinker, as some of you know, and did not imbibe. So much for that excuse. What remains is the stupid one: I should have grabbed a nap. Cue the eyeball rolls among the young.

Bob Randisi, my oldest friend in the writing game, and his lovely partner, Christine Matthews, do a bang-up job on the banquets. Christine works hard to find a good, interesting venue in each city the con travels to, working by phone mostly, and obviously can only rarely visit the venue ahead of time before booking it. The venue this year was in a charming part of Dallas, and was itself charming, the food excellent, the best PWA banquet ever some have said.

Here comes the however: the logistics of the dining room were dire. In a long narrow room, presenters – sans podium – were facing the short width of the room, specifically the rest rooms, with big groups of diners to the left and right. Without a sound system at the facility, Bob used an amplified microphone, which was just not up to the job, particularly with music coming in from the street directly outside.

Presenters, including Bob himself, quickly were pelted with yells of “Can’t hear you!” from either side of this divided country. As things wore on, the left half of the room got rowdier and rowdier, the right half ever more sedate. Speakers preceding the awards proper began abandoning the mic, and just talking loud – one made a joke of it and yelled his entire fifteen-minute presentation (that got very old). A stand-up comedy routine that went flat had been prepared with visual aids that would have been difficult to see even under better circumstances. A lovely speech written by the absent recipient of the Eye (PWA Grand Master, Les Roberts) proved too lengthy.

By the time I went on, last, some humor was needed, and brevity too, so I tried to provide some of both. How did that go? Mostly okay, actually. I spoke about how much the Shamus award meant to writers – in my case, it jump-started me as a private eye writer in 1984, with True Detective winning Best Novel, after I’d written about crooks and amateur sleuths for over a decade.

Bob had given me the nominee list (and winner) at the event itself, at the little table Barb and I and Christine shared. I’d only been asked the day before to give the Best Novel Award. Once in the past, I’d mangled the names on such a list given me last minute by Bob. Because the tables were filled by the time we arrived, going around trying to find five writers I’d never met wasn’t practical. I did my best, at one point giving Bob a bad time about putting me in this spot again, looking at the list with its several non-Anglo Saxon names, and saying, “Furriners!” in an arch and I thought obviously ironic way, meant to underscore my own ineptitude at pronouncing these names. I think it’s fair to say that people who know me much at all do not consider me a stupid bigot, or a smart one, either.

It got the modest laugh it maybe deserved, and I had no idea some of those attending were offended until an editor from Soho came up to Bob and me after the event, as we stood there chatting with people filing out. The editor stated that what I’d said had made some people uncomfortable; she said this not to me, but to Bob, though I was standing right there. That, frankly, rubbed me the wrong way. So did her adding that she herself had not been offended.

I told her to “Lighten up,” and Bob reminded her that Soho hadn’t yet paid for their banquet tickets. That was the extent of the conversation.

At the convention the next day, I attended Barb’s panel and my own – a PWA panel, as it happened – and did several signings and prowled the book room. No one mentioned what I’d said at (or after) the banquet, and even now I don’t know whether the blowback was brewing at the con or if that waited till social media got hold of it.

Monday morning, back in Iowa, I was writing when I got an e-mail from an editor saying I needed to issue an apology, brief and immediate, and hope that it put out the firestorm. I frankly did not know what he was talking about, but I tracked it down, and yes, what I’d said at the PWA banquet was a “thing” on Facebook.

I use Facebook sparingly and Twitter not at all. I had not reflected on what I’d said, as a presenter or to that Soho editor after. The first had been just a sarcastic throwaway, the latter a response not to her complaint so much as what struck me as the risible manner in which that complaint had been made. I made two back-to-back posts, one protesting the rush to judgment, particularly from people who weren’t in attendance (“furriners” had become “foreigners”), and another apologizing to the nominees.

Sometimes when you say something stupid, you don’t even realize it was stupid till later. Now, as I reflected, I came to feel I had diminished the honor of the nominees, not only presenting in a jokey manner an award I immensely value myself, but doing so with a tasteless throwaway – lampooning a view I consider so ridiculously stupid, I couldn’t imagine anyone taking it at face value.

So I apologized on Facebook, and apologized privately to several of the nominees. In the former case, I was accused of trying to explain away my screw-up; but in the latter case, I found the nominees with whom I was able to connect (including the winner) not only gracious, but helpful in making me understand how hurtful that one word had been. They also made a good case for the bravery of the editor who approached with her comment after the event.

My main concern, frankly, is those nominees. It makes me heartsick – actually, nauseated – to think that I took anything away from their honor. I have sat as a nominee in a PWA banquet myself, many times, and I know the pins-and-needles feelings that go through you, waiting for the winner’s name to be read. As literally the person who has lost more Shamus awards than anyone else on the planet, I assure you that anxiety never leaves.

So to them my apology is unconditional, and it extends to everyone in that room, including the SoHo editor, who was the only one with guts enough to make her complaint heard at the event itself. That apology extends to anyone who has offered criticism to me about this, or felt in any way offended. And I apologize to the PWA and its membership for putting them on the spot. To all but the mean-spirited among you, I apologize.

And I thank the editors who got in touch supportively, and to my fellow writers who defended me, some of whom got chastised almost as much as I did. I knew the smart thing to do would probably have been to make a short but complete apology and get out of Dodge. If you read these Updates, you know that’s not my way. Instead I engaged in the discussion at Erin Mitchell’s thread.

That was the extent of my engagement, however, except for adding a few comments at blogs where this came up, repeating (no cut and paste – always a fresh start) my apology. I got into discussions of various aspects of this debacle with posters at Erin’s site, and got a better understanding of seeing this through the eyes of others. For a long time, I did not feel that my behavior with the Soho editor was wrong, but it was, and I should have known that earlier. It took mettle to approach us, and I was flat-out rude to her. I am not known for rudeness, but I was rude.

Maybe a nap would have helped.

I disagree with certain of these reasonable posters on the topic of intent. Many insist intent doesn’t matter (I got compared to a rapist in this discussion, which was no fun). I would argue that mean-spirted intent does matter. Me lampooning ethnocentric attitudes, poorly, is not equal to a racist’s idiocy.

But they do make a good point – dying by friendly fire makes you just as dead as when the bad guys are doing the shooting.

Mystery Convention Foto-Fest

This is almost an all-photo update.

Barb and I arrived back home late afternoon from the Dallas Bouchercon. We were there only for Friday (including travel) and Saturday, leaving Sunday (today) early. We had not attended the last two because of the New Orleans medical emergency at home that sent me back as soon as I arrived, and last year’s Iowa Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame honor at Arnold’s Park, which had us cancelling our planned attendance to the Alaska B’Con.

M.A.C. presenting the Best Novel “Shamus” at the Private Eye Writers of America awards banquet.

Many people, aware of my health issues of a few years ago, assumed I didn’t attend for several years because of that; and I received many nice but kind of amusing compliments about how good I looked (code for: gee, you’re not dead!).

Because of the briefness of our visit, we both had jam-packed schedules. Barb and I did a Kensington signing and I did a Tor/Forge signing – where advance reading copies of Do No Harm were given out! I hadn’t even been able to confirm that there would even be ARC’s of Do No Harm, so I was amazed and pleased to see them. Barb and I did a signing after her panel, and I did one after mine, with Matt Clemens also there to sign our collaborative works.

M.A.C. signing at Bouchercon. Matt Clemens standing.

Barb did a great all-female panel (except for moderator William Kent Krueger), equally divided between cozy writers and thriller/standalone writers. Barb, who was battling a bad cough (doing better now), didn’t show it and put in what I thought was her strongest panel appearance ever – articulate and funny. She was in rough enough shape (though not to the naked eye) that I was prepared to come up and take her place if she had to flee. But somehow she pulled it off.

Kate Moretti, Cathi Stoler, Barbara Ross, Vanessa Lillie, Barbara Collins, Sherry Harris, William Kent Krueger.

Immediately after Barb’s panel (both were Saturday afternoon), I was on a panel about the history of the Private Eye Writers of America and also the first time each panelist came to a Bouchercon. I shared the stage with some great writers who are also pals of mine, including moderator Bob Randisi, my longest friendship in the writing game, going back to 1973 when he was the first person I ever met who had read my books but wasn’t a relative.

Bob Randisi, M.A.C., S.J. Rozan on the Private Eye Writers of America panel.


Robert Randisi. Max Allan Collins Jr. SJ Rozan Reed Farrel Coleman Michael Sears. A legendary group of P.I. writers, discussing the PWA and Bouchercon (according to the Facebook caption!). Credit Chad Williamson.

I am embarrassed and a bit unhappy that I was only able to say quick hellos or exchange a few brief words with my many friends at Bouchercon, but my limited stay at the event and my impossible schedule made that inevitable. I did manage to spend some quality time with Lee Goldberg of Brash Books; Grace Doyle, Liz Pearsons and Sarah Shaw of Thomas & Mercer; and Micheala Hamilton of Kensington. Among other things, I conned meals out of all of them, who happen to be fun people to be around, as well as colleagues in the writing game who help keep me in business.

Bob Randisi (founder of the Private Eye Writers of America) and M.A.C. at the Shamus awards.

M.A.C.

Our Bouchercon Schedule

Here’s a photo of yrs truly at San Diego Con in 1982 chatting with the great Hank Ketcham, creator of Dennis the Menace, at the Inkpot Awards (I won one and so did he). It was taken by my old pal Alan Light, and has absolutely nothing to do with Bouchercon, other than I will no doubt again be mixing with my betters.

Barb and I haven’t attended a Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention, in four years. Health issues were a part of it, and previous commitments kept us away in some instances.

Most frustratingly, in 2016, when I’d recovered well from my heart surgery, including a stroke on the operating table, I managed to get pertussis (whooping cough) and so did Barb. She had a worse case of it and, with me out of the woods, she sent me off to New Orleans alone for Bouchercon XLVII.

When I got in at the airport in that city, I almost immediately got a call from a neighbor saying Barb had been rushed to the Emergency Room, fighting for breath. I immediately booked a flight home – meaning I spent almost all of that day either going to the airport, in the air, in layovers, and going back home again (picked up by those kind neighbors). So I was in New Orleans for about an hour and fifteen minutes. I was glad I returned, because Barb had a rough weekend and she needed me. She recovered well, but it was a nasty one.

Prior to that, Barb and I went almost every year to Bouchercon. We made both Long Beach and Raleigh. Those were the last times I saw my pal Bill Crider, who this year’s con is rightfully honoring. He is sorely missed.

Now, with luck, both halves of Barbara Allan will be in Dallas next weekend. The con starts on Thursday, October 31. But that’s Halloween and we take that seriously in this suspenseful household, so we won’t be arriving till Friday morning.

Here is our schedule:

FRIDAY NOVEMBER 1

Kensington Books signing (Barbara Allan), 2 – 3 PM

Forge Books signing (Max Allan Collins) 3:00 – 3:30

NOTE: Both are, I believe, in the book room.

Shamus Awards Dinner, 6:30 PM at Hattie’s, 418 N. Bishop Avenue. I am not nominated (boo!) but I will be presenting the Best Novel Award (yay!).

SATURDAY NOVEMBER 2

Barbara Collins, Such a Good Family, 1:00 PM – 2:00 PM, Reunion F

Max Allan Collins, Private Eye Writers of America, 2:30 PM – 3:30 PM, Landmark C

I have had no official notification yet, but the usual order of business is a signing following each panel. Assuming that to be the case, I will be with Barb at the Barbara Allan signing, and she will be with me at the M.A.C. signing. If I can corral Matthew Clemens to join us at the latter signing, I will; in any event, Matt will be there, so bring you Collins/Clemens books for signing.

M.A.C.

Dispatch From the Bunker

The audio book of Scarface and the Untouchable, I am pleased to report, is up for a Voice Arts Award, thanks in no small part to narrator Stefan Rudnicki…assisted by two other narrators, A. Brad Schwartz and Max Allan Collins, under Stefan’s direction.

For those of you attending Bouchercon, look to see Barb and me there, Friday through Sunday. The con begins on Thursday, but that’s Halloween, and my four year-old grandson will be in costume, seeking candy, which I do not intend to miss.

Next week I’ll give you the breakdown on our panels and signings (Barb and I each have a panel appearance).

I have been very much burrowed in on the next Mike Hammer novel, Masquerade for Murder. It will be out next March. This is the second Hammer I’ve written from a Spillane synopsis, with only two scraps of Mickey’s prose to work into the book (including the opening, however). That’s an intimidating prospect, but I think it came out well.

The novel takes place in the late ‘80s and is a follow-up (not a sequel) to Mickey’s The Killing Man. Like the preceding Spillane/Collins Hammer novel, Murder, My Love, the synopsis may have been written by Mickey as a proposed TV episode for the Stacy Keach series. This means I had fleshing out to do, and I hope I’ve done Mike and the Mick justice.

I am working with a new editor at Titan, Andrew Sumner, who knows Hammer well – he was the skilled interviewer for one-on-one interviews with me at the last two San Diego Comic Cons. Andrew knows American pop culture inside out, and this is good news for me and the series. I will, very soon, be preparing a proposal for three more Hammer novels – two of which have considerably more Spillane material to work from.

The 75th anniversary of Mike Hammer looms in 2022, and we are already planning for it. With luck, the long-promised Collins/James Traylor biography of Spillane will be part of that. There will be a role for Hard Case Crime in the mix, too, and possibly even another graphic novel, this one based on a classic Spillane yarn.

For Masquerade for Murder, I spent a lot of time with The Killing Man, assembling typical Spillane phrases, settings and passages for reference and inspiration. I try to incorporate a Spillane feel, particularly in descriptions of weather and NYC locations; but I stop short of writing pastiche – I am less concerned with imitating Mickey’s style and more concerned with getting Hammer’s character down.

It’s somewhat challenging positioning each novel in the canon in proper context. Hammer was a shifting character – shifting with Mickey’s own age and attitudes – and I want each book to reflect where the writer and his character were when Mickey wrote the material I am working from. The last two have been later Hammer – specifically, late 1980s. Next time, assuming I land another three-book contract, I will be writing a story set around 1954. I look forward to that, because it’s the younger, rougher and tougher and more psychotic Hammer that many of us know and love.

I also have gone over the galley proofs of the new Heller, Do No Harm, also out in March (as is Girl Can’t Help It!) (yikes)! It was written a while ago and I was pleased to view it from a distance – and pleased to find I liked it very much.

I hope you’ll agree.

You didn’t have anything else to do next March but read three books by me, did you? You can take April off and dive back in, in May for Antiques Fire Sale.

* * *

Here’s a nice, extensive look at Ms. Tree.

Wild Dog has his own Wikipedia entry now – a good one.

One of our best contemporary crime fiction critics and historians, J. Kingston Pierce, has included The Titanic Murders in a fun look at disaster mysteries.

The late, great Paul Newman is lauded in this write-up about the film of Road to Perdition.

And finally, that man Jeff Pierce is back with a fine piece about the subject of last week’s update, actor Robert Forster.

M.A.C.

Not Just Yet, Bobby

Actor Robert Forster died last Friday at age 78. He was a terrific actor, probably best known for Jackie Brown (for which he received an Oscar nomination), but more recently he appeared in both Breaking Bad and the latest iteration of Twin Peaks. I met him once and got to spend a little time with him.

I ask your patience while I establish a little context for what follows.

Some of you may know I wrote a movie called The Expert (1994), which wound up an HBO World Premiere. How I came to write it (and the slings and arrows that followed) is worth its own entry here. But suffice to say I made several trips to L.A. to work with director William Lustig on what was, initially, meant to be a remake of Jules Dassin’s great prison picture, Brute Force.

I got this opportunity because Lustig and his producing partner, Andy Garoni, optioned my Nolan and Quarry novels with an eye on having me do the screenplays. They knew I had never written for the screen before but they liked the books, found me knowledgeable about film, and I talked a good game. So I was invited onto their latest project, then still called Brute Force. As it happened, I needed a lot of help, and Lustig became my teacher, with Garoni assisting.

Lustig, who I got along with very well, was a brutal taskmaster but also a coddling parent. I would put in several hours at Lustig’s place; between sessions, he would take me to either a deli-style restaurant for a meal (corn beef, pastrami, swiss cheese, Russian dressing and cole slaw on rye please) or to somewhere I could slake my laser disc addiction. Bill had the same laser disc jones, and once took me to a laser disc store famously frequented by film directors (Lustig being one, but also people like Brian DePalma and Joe Dante). I didn’t buy much there because it was full retail, but Lustig also helped me hit several Tower Records (R.I.P.) and I scored mightily.

Bill was friends with Forster, who had appeared in several Lustig-directed pictures, including Vigilante and Maniac Cop 3, and – as a treat for me – he invited his pal Bob to have lunch with us at an excellent deli, the name of which escapes me.

I was a fan. Robert Forster had been a big-league movie star out of the gate (Reflections in a Golden Eye and Medium Cool) and then became a TV lead on Nakia and Banyon – the latter was a pioneering period private eye show, with Forster’s Banyon inhabiting a Bradbury Building office prior to both Jake Axminster and Nate Heller (but not Mike Hammer). And for several decades Forster was a top network TV guest star.

To say Robert Forster was warm and down-to-earth, at our luncheon, would be an understatement. He was appearing in a play and, as I recall, he had to drive a distance to the theater – he was doing a friend a favor when another actor had to drop out. But he lingered with us, chatting as long as he dared without risking being late for curtain. He came prepared to meet a fan, bringing gifts for me – a lovely black globe-shaped paperweight, which I still have and display, and a VHS copy of his private eye movie, Hollywood Harry.

What I remember most vividly from the lunch is an anecdote Forster shared, clearly intended to help me on my own learning adventure in film, which I was attempting under Lustig’s guidance.

The actor told me how intimidated he was, when he landed his first film role in a very big-time production, Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967). He’d be co-starring with Elizabeth Taylor and Marlon Brando, and directed by John Huston. He’d been spotted on Broadway, and Huston gave him the role after an audition.

Thus began, over several months, a process in which Forster asked the director, “Mr. Huston, do you have any special instructions for me?” Huston would always reply, “Not just yet, Bobby. Not just yet.” At every encounter with the crustily friendly legendary director, Forster would ask again. Not just yet, Bobby. After the table read of the script – not just yet, Bobby. After the wardrobe fitting – not just yet, Bobby. After make-up tests – not just yet. Half a dozen times or more – any special instructions? Not just yet, Bobby.

Finally the time came to shoot the first scene, the lighting ready, the camera in place, Forster about to make his on-screen debut in the company of Taylor and Brando. This time Forster didn’t ask, but Huston said, “Bobby? Now.” Yes, Mr. Huston. The director walked him over to the big 35mm camera aimed at the empty set, slipped an arm around his young star and eased him close, so that Forster could look right into the viewfinder at the Panavision rectangle.

“Fill that with something interesting,” Huston said.

Great advice.

My pal Leonard Maltin wrote his own reminiscence about his good friend and you should check it out.

* * *

Road to Perdition is one of Paul Newman’s best films, it says here.

Here’s a lovely Ms. Tree piece.

Road to Perdition is featured in this dubious list which names ten crime movie masterpieces that you’ve probably seen (except you’ve probably seen them all, if you’re reading this).

Here’s a nice review of Real Time: Siege at Lucas Street Market.

A good Ms. Tree review here.

Finally, my brief Batman comic strip run is discussed here. I didn’t really “ghost-write” it though – my name was forced off the strip (like me!) by the Chicago Tribune Syndicate.

M.A.C.

Killing Quarry Book Giveaway and…Rambo!!!

I have a whopping 15 advance copies of Killing Quarry (the book will be on the stands in November).

A number of you were nice enough to volunteer to review pretty much anything of mine, when I went on a recent self-pity binge. I am going to ask you a favor, because it will help me get these books out to you. Go ahead and enter this giveaway, even though not long ago you sent me info; it will make things move quicker. Here are the rules.

Write me at macphilms@hotmail.com. You agree to write a review for Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your own blog or review site (if you hate the book, you are released from this commitment, but can review it anyway if you wish). USA addresses only. It’s important that you send your snail-mail address. Also, if you’re one of the kind people who volunteered to review my stuff recently, remind me of that.

These are ARCs (Advance Reading Copies) but they are identical to the coming trade edition – I had made my corrections and revisions beforehand. I would be glad to sign and personalize your copy if you request it.

Thank you for your interest and support. A Girl Can’t Help It giveaway will follow in January or February.

* * *

Rambo: Last Blood has a 27% critical score on Rotten Tomatoes. That was almost enough to scare me off, until I noticed the audience score was 82%. Somewhere there’s a disconnect.

I decided to check out the negative reviews, and here’s a typical excerpt: “…less an escapist action movie and more a dramatized manifestation of the most notorious sentences from Donald Trump’s presidential campaign announcement speech (Matthew Rozsa).” This political, politically correct tone infected most of the negative reviews on view at Rotten Tomatoes.

Also, I read that the author of First Blood, David Morrell, had given his thumbs down to the film. More about that later.

I hardly ever talk politics here. Most people familiar with me and my work know that I am a left-of-center individual. But I have friends and business associates who have different views, and having damaged some friendships over this nonsense, I now try to keep my opinions to myself. I mention this only because I liked Rambo: Last Blood very much, as did my equally (maybe more) liberal wife.

Before I get into that film itself, let’s revisit the first four Rambo films, briefly (my wife and I watched them, one a night, after seeing the new one).

First Blood (1982) is the best film, a fairly faithful rendering of Morrell’s fine first novel (again, more about this later). It is set stateside and deals with both PTSD and smalltown prejudice against long-haired apparent hippies (a brilliant mix) and is a rousing action film that builds and builds to an emotional outburst from the taciturn Rambo about the rage in him and what fueled it.

Rambo: Second Blood (1985) is a fun action film, fast-paced and impressive in what it pulls off without CGI. This is where Rambo becomes iconic in the way Mike Hammer and Tarzan are iconic. A structure that would follow all of the coming films to at least some degree has (act one) Rambo reluctantly getting involved in a mission, (act two) Rambo playing cat-and-mouse games with his pursuers in a jungle setting, and (act three) Rambo kicking ass in a large-scale battle sequence. This really is the Morrell structure moved from America to Vietnam, with Afghanistan, Burma and Mexico substituting in subsequent entries.

Rambo III (1988) is pretty much the same movie as the second one, but bigger and with a few variables – Rambo is captured and tortured in the previous film, but this time his commander – played by the always dependable Richard Crenna – gets the torture routine. The difference is the stoic Rambo, when he does speak, utters quips right out of the Schwarzenegger playbook – this, for instance, is the one where Rambo tells the bad guy, “I’m your worst nightmare.”

All of these movies benefit from rousing Jerry Goldsmith scores that invoke John Barry’s Bond themes.

Rambo (2008), which is also known as John Rambo and was at one point actually called First Blood, comes about twenty years later and manages to be anti-war even as it bathes the screen in blood. It’s fast, entertaining and gritty, and the CGI ups the ante (although I am not a fan of computer-generated blood).

Now let’s talk the current movie, the fifth Rambo, called simply that. I am going to do a plot summary, so skip the next three paragraphs if you’re spoiler sensitive.

John Rambo is on his Arizona ranch where he rides horses when he isn’t obsessively digging tunnels and almost subconsciously preparing for a battle that may never come. His Hispanic housekeeper, with whom he has a warm mother/son relationship, has a teenaged daughter to whom Rambo has been something of a surrogate father. The girl is obsessed with facing her actual father, who deserted her and her mother, years ago; he’s in Mexico and it’s made clear that Rambo cleaned this abusive a-hole’s clock but good, once upon a time.

The girl winds up in Mexico, rejected by Daddy, then roofied and dragged into forced prostitution. Rambo goes looking for her and gets his expected torture scene – this is roughly act one of the usual structure, as earlier Rambo tried hard to talk the girl into not going looking for her despicable old man. After being rescued by an undercover female reporter, who gives him first aid and information, Rambo then goes back to rescue the girl.

This leads to mayhem (act two, minus the cat-and-mouse stuff) as he makes the rescue. But the brutalized and now dope-addicted girl dies on the way home. Rambo, having killed the number two bad guy, goes home and sends his housekeeper away and preps for war with bad guy number one and his minions. Act three is the big battle scene as the bad guys attack, like Apaches on a fort manned by a single brave soldier; and here an underground cat-and-mouse game finds its home within the larger battle.

Throughout this fifth film, Rambo is shown to still be suffering from PTSD, for which he takes (and eventually abandons) medication. A smaller film than the preceding Burma chapter, number five is a solid entry and employs some of the most startling deaths this side of an Evil Dead movie.

And that similarity made me reflect on why the Rambo films entertain – it’s, in part, because they invoke several genres all at once. Rambo is Tarzan, master of the jungle and jungle tactics. Rambo is Mike Hammer, taking vengeance (the main bad guy always gets it good). Rambo is John Wayne – in the current film, he’s specifically the surrogate father of The Searchers– with horseback action heavy in numbers three and five.

But this new film makes it clear, too, that every Rambo is an inverted horror film of the slasher variety – he is Jason or Michael Myers as the hero, stalking and killing and sometimes in a shockingly amusing fashion. Stallone is a master at talking to all our worst but also best instincts – family is important in these films, loyalty and friendship (another Hammer quality), even compassion.

If Rambo (2019) is a smaller film than the preceding entry, and perhaps not quite as epic as what would appear to be the final chapter might be, it’s a terrific action movie, well-executed with a legendary, charismatic star at its center.

What has made many of my fellow liberals, particularly those farther left than yours truly, go apoplectic, is that the bad guys are Mexicans. They ignore an obvious fact: so are most of the good guys – the Hispanic daughter, her grandmother, a doctor who tends to Rambo, the female journalist who helps him and whose own sister went down the same horrifying path as Rambo’s surrogate daughter. Idiots who see the shot of the Trump border fence (actually erected under Obama) see proof that this film is one big red MAGA hat. They don’t notice that the next shot shows Mexican bad guys coming out of a tunnel under that “big beautiful wall,” delivering them in the good ol’ USA.

The reviewers, whose gentle sensibilities have been ruffled by a straight-forward revenge melodrama, seem convinced this film was designed to pander to Trump lovers. I just watched the special features on the previous Rambo movie – the one that came out in 2007 – where in the “making of” documentary, Stallone tells the story of the film to come – Rambo back in Arizona, with the surrogate daughter who goes to Mexico and gets kidnapped into prostitution. This would have been conceived around 2005 – uh, Trump wasn’t president then, was he? I forget. Yet I do recall the review I quoted that insisted the film was inspired by Trump’s campaign announcement speech.

Why does Dave Morrell hate the new film? He has said it left him feeling “degraded and dehumanized.” I understand the complicated feelings writers have about their work being adapted to the screen. I also understand how frustrating it is to be left out of the creative process (Rambo’s creator had some early talks with Stallone about the story, but they stopped in 2016). When my Quarry was adapted for Cinemax, the most distinctive aspect of the character – his dark sense of humor – was largely gone. But I got over it. Well, I cashed the check.

I’m not a close friend of Dave’s, but we’re friendly acquaintances who shared a mentor in Don Westlake. Dave taught at Iowa City and I used to run into him now and then; we would talk, mostly about Westlake.

One memorable encounter between us in Iowa City, at a bookstore – Prairie Lights, I believe – we have both written about. He had been offered the novelization job for Rambo II and was uneasy about accepting it. Here’s his version from his website:

I killed Rambo (in the novel First Blood), and now in the novelizations he would be alive. The logic really bothered me. One day, I crossed paths with my writer friend, Max Allan Collins (among other things, he wrote the wonderful graphic novel, Road to Perdition), who said that the problem was easily solved. “Just add an author’s note,” he told me, “in which you say something like, ‘In my novel First Blood, Rambo died. In the films, he lives.’” So that’s what I did.

Two other ironies or at least odd resonances occur to me. First, I had not written any novelizations yet when I suggested Dave ought to take that gig. Second, the next time I ran into him, he was doing a book signing at B. Dalton in an Iowa City mall, and Barb and I were on our way to see Rambo II in that mall’s theater. I believe he was signing the novelization, and I think he signed one to me, but I’ll be damned if I know what became of it.

Dave and I have a bond. We created (as best we can tell) the first two Vietnam vet PTSD anti-heroes in Rambo and Quarry. And we both based those heroes, at least in part, on Audie Murphy.

Here’s what I know about David Morrell: he is a great guy and a great writer. I respect his opinion on the latest Rambo film, and hope he will tolerate mine.

* * *

Check out this amazing podcast largely about Quarry, and specifically about Quarry’s Choice. The reviewer (there are two, both of whom like the Quarry character, one a huge fan) puts Quarry and me in a pantheon of three, the others being Richard Stark and Parker, and Donald Hamilton and Matt Helm. I admit to be blown away by being compared to these greats.

Here’s a fun You Tube review of Ms. Tree: One Mean Mother.

The excellent True West magazine gives me a nice boost for Last Stage to Hell Junction in their current issues and on their website.

Finally, here’s a terrific review of Scarface and the Untouchable…from a gun enthusiast!

M.A.C.

Hey Kids – Despair and Frustration!

I received an e-mail from a loyal reader and good friend to me and my work, who expressed the following concern: “It is probably just my imagination, but…this week’s and last week’s posts seem to have a certain edge of despair and/or frustration about them. Hope all is well.”

I didn’t answer this directly, but will answer it now. Right here.

While “an edge of despair” goes too far, “frustration” does not. This is a frustrating time for me, and for a lot of working writers. Let’s restrict this to writers in the mystery/suspense genre, because that’s the world I know. But I can tell you there are some difficulties of the moment that are impacting probably everybody but the very upper reaches of fiction publishing – the consistent big sellers, and they undoubtedly have their own woes.

Among the problems – the realities – of publishing that have just begun to show themselves in a major way is the policy of many editors and especially publishers to no longer offer multiple book contracts. For much of my career, going back to the mid-‘70s, I would be offered three-book contracts. For somebody like me – prolific and working no “day job,” and dealing with multiple publishers – that has allowed me to be able to look ahead several years and know I have work. In other words, you know you have money coming in (and something to do with your time).

I have been very, very lucky. The only really slow patch came about when, on the same day back in 1993, I had my Nate Heller contract with Bantam cancelled and my Dick Tracy comic strip contract with Tribune Media Services not picked up for the usual five-year run. I was blessed by the friendship of two great men who are no longer with us: Ed Gorman and Martin Greenberg, who almost smothered me in short story assignments until I could get my career up and running again. From these ashes, rose both Road to Perdition and my movie/TV tie-in career.

Other than that rough stretch, made smooth by Ed and Marty, I have always known that I have a couple of years, at least, lined up, keeping me busy and the lights on.

But publishing itself is in a rough patch. I don’t have to go into any detail with anyone reading this about the ongoing changes in the industry – the disappearance of Border’s, the restructuring of Barnes & Noble, the death of many mystery bookstores, the dominance of Amazon and other on-line stores, self-publishing, Amazon’s own publishing, e-books, etc. Some of that stuff represents new opportunities; others represent empty stores with tumbleweed blowing through.

I benefitted greatly by having the bulk of my Nate Heller backlist picked up by Amazon’s Thomas & Mercer, who later picked up Mallory, the “disaster” series, and two thrillers by “Barbara Allan,” Regeneration and Bombshell.

But of late, many publishers – and I think soon most publishers – are offering authors one-book contracts for new work. That is not only troubling for those of us trying to figure out if we have work/income lined up more than a year, but it also presents creative problems. Take the Antiques series, which deals with an on-going storyline in addition to the self-contained mysteries – Barb and I have regularly figured out three-novel story arcs, which have greatly impacted the books creatively.

There is no such thing as a one-book arc.

Caleb York is now getting one book at a time, and I have built an ongoing storyline into that series as well. But a reality of one-book-a-time contracts means every book has to look over its shoulder and make sure that if it turns out to be the last novel, it will provide a satisfying conclusion to the series.

Hard Case Crime has been a huge boon and boost to me, and they have published more books by me than any other author (thanks, Charles!). But, hard as it may be to believe, I’ve never had more than a one-book contract from HCC (other than when they reprinted the early Quarrys in tandem with the Cinemax series).

Nathan Heller has always benefitted from multiple book contracts – the JFK Trilogy (Bye Bye, Baby; Target Lancer; Ask Not) is one of the major achievements of the saga, in my opinion. But Better Dead and the forthcoming Do No Harm were written on one-book contracts. I am looking at a two-book RFK cycle next, but can I find a house that will guarantee me two slots on their publishing schedule?

Girl Most Likely has done very well, but until we see how Girl Can’t Help It does, I won’t know if a third book will happen. This is both nerve-racking and frustrating. The book has done well – sales have been brisk, and the reviews at Amazon average four-stars…and there have been a lot of them (over 200).

But among those reviews were weak ones from several of the trades, complaining that the book was too much of a departure from my Heller/Quarry/Hammer norm. Some readers have complained similarly, and a really nasty two-star review (“What Is This?”) has headed up the Amazon reviews of the novel from the start, and is still there, discouraging sales.

Why do I read reviews? Often I don’t. Do I take them seriously? You bet I do. Why, because I can’t take criticism like any normal human? (Maybe.) But absolutely these on-line reviewers – bloggers who are courted by publishers now – are taken seriously by the editors and publishers who decide whether or not to offer another precious one-book contract to an author. How successful that writer’s track record is seems increasingly irrelevant, unless sales have been through the roof.

If you are interested enough in my work to click onto the links I provide here weekly, you already know that most of the reviews for Girl Most Likely have been very good. Mostly excellent, actually. But publishing takes the negative reviews more to heart than the positive ones – at least that’s how it feels to me.

One problem was that Girl Most Likely debuted in the UK a month before America, and racked up a number of reviews by females who didn’t like an old male writing about a young female (and that the secondary protagonist was also an old male), as well as readers who understandably don’t like America much right now (and those two groups seem to overlap). Most of those hateful reviews were channeled into Goodreads, which set Girl Most Likely up for an initially rough ride.

Trade paperback edition with new material.

There have been other frustrations. Scarface and the Untouchable: Al Capone, Eliot Ness and the Battle for Chicago by A. Brad Schwartz and myself is one of my proudest accomplishments (though Brad deserves much of the credit). It’s a massive, 700-page work that is probably the definitive work on this important, influential aspect of American history. We received not a single nomination for any of the major mystery awards. We were not reviewed in Mystery Scene or The Strand, although the book was much praised outside the genre (we were the Chicago Public Library’s Book of the Year and won a best audio award).

This is why I put so much emphasis on the importance of on-line reviews coming from those of you who are kind enough (and smart enough) to like my work. That’s why I do the book giveaways – and one is coming soon for Killing Quarry.

Also, thanks to those of you who wrote about your willingness to receive Advance Reading Copies of my stuff for review purposes. Right now I don’t know if Do No Harm is even getting ARCs…I’ll let you know. If not, finished copies closer to publication date will be made available, in part through another giveaway.

And you collectors out there who love classic tough guy stuff, like Hard Case Crime publishes, and wish HCC and others would reprint more great old novels…swell, but how about supporting some writers who are still alive? They need your love, and royalties, much more than dead guys. So when I suggest you write reviews on-line of my books, I also want to encourage you to do the same for any writers whose books you regularly read. Remember what the great Don Westlake said: “A cult author is a writer who is seven readers short of making a living.”

So, despair? Not really. Frustration? You betcha, Red Ryder.

And there’s another aspect to this that gets even more personal. At 71, with some health problems behind me (and, like anybody my age, more undoubtedly ahead of me), I am really less concerned with making a living now and more concerned with building the M.A.C. bookshelf…with expanding my legacy. A major part of that is making sure I can keep doing Heller. I have half a dozen more in mind, and in particular want to get the RFK duo done, as I’ve set that up so thoroughly in the previous novels.

So look for a major push for Do No Harm here, to help make another Heller…more Hellers…possible.

And I want to say that I don’t mean to be critical of my publishers and editors. They are navigating a tough, fluid world, where they’ve chosen to be because (like writers) they love books. I salute Titan, Hard Case Crime, Kensington, Morrow, and Thomas & Mercer for everything they’ve done for me and, so far anyway, continue to do.

And I have books coming out from every one – in some cases more than one.

And I can’t forget Brash Books, who have brought out in beautiful editions not only the prose Perdition trilogy (including the complete Road to Perdition movie novel) but Black Hats and USS Powderkeg, previously seen under the Patrick Culhane byline. (Powderkeg restores my preferred title to Red Sky in Morning and is somewhat revised.)

So will you stop bitching, Collins? You have been so damn lucky in your career! Shut-up and thank your readers for everything.

Next week: some good news on a couple of fronts.

* * *

Here’s a great review from Ron Fortier of the Caleb York novel, Last Stage to Hell Junction.

Urban Politico has a fun review of Seduction of the Innocent.

Here’s another of those “movies you didn’t know were based on comic books,” featuring a little something called Road to Perdition.

Scroll down for nice stuff about Ms. Tree, Killing Quarry and Mike Hammer (although the writer doesn’t realize there are two Collins-scripted Stacy Keach radio-style novels-for-audio).

M.A.C.

Must Be Raining, ‘Cause We’re Talking Arc

Paperback:

E-Book:

This going to be very brief, as I am starting work on the new Mike Hammer (Masquerade for Murder), again working from a Spillane synopsis with a few snippets of his prose to work in. The early chapters are always the hardest, getting the tone, getting into the swing of it, and just generally building momentum.

I had a nice response last week from readers interested in getting advance copies of Do No Harm. Interestingly – and disappointingly – not a one asked to see Girl Can’t Help It. I hope readers of Quarry, Heller, Hammer and so on will give this series a fair try. This book has particular meaning for me because I’ve finally – after all these years – really engaged with my rock ‘n’ roll background in the telling of a crime story.

As it happens, I already have on hand Advance Reading Copies (ARC’s) of Girl Can’t Help It, but am hesitant to start sending any out, since the book won’t be available till March 10.

As for Do No Harm, I have yet to ascertain whether there will be Advance Reading Copies at all – if we have to wait till the actual book exists, that will complicate getting reviews out there early enough to do any good. Publishers are starting to send out mostly e-book versions of ARC’s, which sucks. Stay tuned.

I also have not received a supply of Killing Quarry ARC’s, but some are finding their way into reviewer’s hands. A nice write-up is included below.

The readers who wrote interested in doing reviews (thank you, all of you) are mostly veterans of the Book Giveaway Wars here (and there will be more of those). I am building a list (finally) of you loyal reviewers. But I’m frustrated that so few bloggers and other on-line reviewers were a definite minority among those who responded.

Apologies for the brevity this time, but here are some interesting links to make up for it.

This one is a review of Quarry, the first novel I wrote about the character (not the chronological first – that’s The First Quarry), and the third novel I wrote if we start with Bait Money as the opening gun. (Mourn the Living proceeded it, but didn’t get published till years later. Also, there were four full-length novels written by me in my junior high and high school years, never published…thank God…but the reason why I got fairly proficient early on.

This is another nice write-up, mostly about the Quarry books, from a reader who admits having trouble keeping up with me. Here’s the thing, for those who are dealing with my prolific nature: first, I am trying to make a living; and second, I can only write books while I’m alive, so I’m using the time as best I can.

Here’s a write-up about comic book tough girls, and Ms. Tree gets some nice ink along the way.

And here’s that early Killing Quarry review I promised you.

M.A.C.

What Can You Do Today?

I know what you’re thinking.

What can I do today for Max Allan Collins?

Thanks for asking. Here are several suggestions.

Girl Can’t Help It – the sequel to Girl Most Likely – comes out on March 10, 2020. So does the new Nate Heller novel, Do No Harm, the first in several years – the Sam Sheppard Murder Case novel. I am prolific enough that this kind of thing (dual publication) happens from time to time, because I work with more than one publisher (and they do not coordinate releases with each other). This causes certain problems, as you might imagine, because promoting two books at once is less than ideal.

The future of other books featuring the respective series characters in these two very different novels is riding on the success of these new titles. That’s hardly unusual in the publishing world today, where publishers who for many decades gave writers like me multiple-book contracts now offer one-book contracts. The freelance writing trade has always had its insecurities, but this is a new low.

What can you do to help? Advance order one or both novels at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, BAM! or whoever your favorite on-line bookseller is. That will help me out while not putting you in the position of having to buy two M.A.C. novels at the same time next March, straining your wallet and the credulity of the B & N clerk.

Paperback:

E-Book:

MP3 CD:

Audio CD:


Hardcover:

E-Book:

What else can you do?

If you have a reviewing blog or such-like (these updates of mine fall into the “such-like” category) you can e-mail me your snail-mail address and I will get you an advance copy of the book you wish to review, as soon as it’s available. Advance reading copies (ARCs) will be available fairly soon. If you want to review them both, just say so.

You will not be expected to write a rave, just to write an honest review. Mixed reviews are fine and negative reviews are legal (but be gentle). Write me at macphilms@hotmail.com.

This is only for on-line reviewers. Help me build a mailing list for readers of mine with review columns (or who review at times within a more eclectic column, like, oh I don’t know, this one).

For the rest of you, I will be doing giveaways when we get closer to the pub date of both books (which, as I say, is the same date). A new Quarry (Killing Quarry) is coming in November of this year. The Untouchable and the Butcher by A. Brad Schwartz and me is set for next May – another massive tome, and in conjunction with Scarface and the Untouchable will be the definitive work on Eliot Ness. There will be a new Caleb York novel, Hot Lead, Cold Justice, also in May.

So there will be plenty of M.A.C. to read. But if you are a Nate Heller fan, I do need your support, because there’s nothing harder to keep going than a long-running series that doesn’t star a household name like Bosch or Reacher. Even my Mike Hammer novels (and Hammer is a household name, or used to be), co-written with Mickey, are almost never reviewed by the trades (Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, Kirkus, Library Journal). There are exceptions, of course – Killing Quarry has been reviewed by all those except Library Journal (so far), and very favorably.

What’s on the docket for Heller are two novels completing the Kennedy cycle – both RFK-oriented one dealing with the Hoffa feud, the other with Bobby’s assassination. But I have no contract for those books yet. I am considering Martin Luther King, Watergate and the Zodiac to round out Heller’s career, but I have to have a publisher to do that. And it takes readers to encourage a publisher.

So. As I recall, you asked what you could do for me. Let publishers know you’re interested. Pre-order both Girl Can’t Help It and Do No Harm, and do so with my thanks. And Krista and Keith Larson’s. And especially Nate Heller’s.

* * *

Speaking of Do No Harm, here’s a nice advance write-up from Craig Zablo.

Nice Ms. Tree: One Mean Mother write-up from Mystery Tribune.

Here’s another nice review of Ms. Tree: One Mean Mother.

M.A.C.