Duane Swierczynski's Blog, page 10

Down These Mean, Sunbaked Streets

This past Saturday's screening of Hickey & Boggs was a real treat. I'm very thankful to Cullen Gallagher and the rest of his Not Coming to A Theater Near You crew for inviting me up, as well as the 92Y Tribeca for hosting. The screening room was packed, and I think it's safe to say everybody had a good time with this downbeat slice of neo noir.

And yes, they showed an actual print, not a digital copy. And while the colors were slightly sunbaked and orange to my untrained eye, it was still a beautiful thing to behold, complete with crisp audio. Besides, all of my memories of the early 1970s are slightly sunbaked and orange anyway.

Someone asked if I'd be running my introduction on my blog. I honestly hadn't thought about it until then. I prepared about 700 words of loose notes, meant as a guide for my three or four minute talk. I definitely went off script, because I wanted to be informal. Friendly. Easygoing. You know, like the 1970s. I also added quite a bit of impromptu profanity, which is what I do when I'm nervous and speaking in front of a large crowd.

Anyway, here's what I prepared, in case you want a little intro before you stream Hickey & Boggs on Netflix or download it from iTunes...


Raymond Chandler one described the classic private eye in this now-classic quote:

"Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world." 

 In the early 1970s, the classic romantic, private eye—the kind Chandler was describing—well… he took kind of an ass-beating.
By who? I think you can point at finger at three movies:
Robert Altman's 1973 film adaptation of The Long Goodbye, where Chandler's own Philip Marlowe is played by Elliott Gould as if he'd fallen asleep in the 1940s and woke in the early 1970s... and he doesn't quite adjust until the last, bloody (and controversial) scene.
Night Moves, the 1975 Arthur Penn movie in which Gene Hackman plays an old school private eye who can't figure out the mysteries of his marriage, let alone the case at hand… and ends up, quite literally, circling the drain.
And then there's tonight's feature, Hickey and Boggs, which to me is the high point – or low point, as it were – of the 1970s private eye ass-beating trend.
Hickey and Boggs was the first produced screenplay of legendary Walter Hill, of Alien, The Warriors, 48 HRS. and Streets of Fire fame, among many others. The film was directed by Robert Culp -- the only film he ever directed. Culp shot on location, all over L.A. He shot cheap, on a short schedule, with a very low budget.
The stars? Culp himself and Bill Cosby. One generation might remember Culp and Cosby from I Spy. Another might remember Culp as Agent Bill Maxwell from The Greatest American Hero, and Cosby as Cliff Huxtable.
Well, you ain't going to see that Culp and Cosby.
And if you're expecting a prototype Lethal Weapon, let me set you straight: there are no crazy Martin Riggs antics; Culp doesn't once say, "I'm getting too old for this shit." 

Bill Cosby cracks a smile exactly once, if I recall correctly.*
(*Note: I made this claim, but the film proved me wrong. Cosby smiles about four or five times.)

Hickey & Boggs opened October 4, 1972… and didn't exactly set the world on fire. It's safe to say Hickey & Boggs was kind of forgotten, except by diehard noir fans.
You can't blame me. I was about eight months old, and missed my chance to see it in the theater.
I first saw it thanks to a reference in a book by Alain Silver and James Ursini called L.A. Noir: The City as Character.

And I'll admit it: it was the image of Robert Culp and Bill Cosby, guns blazing behind a shot-up car on a beach—yeah, that hooked me.

After a trip to L.A., and wishing I were still there, I saw H&B on iTunes and gave it try. It blew me away.
The film is as complex as any good crime novel. Maybe even a little too complex, but so what. Full of great sunbaked LA scenes—the ultimate daytime noir. My friend, novelist and screenwriter Terrill Lankford, says he shows H&B to actors to show them how to underplay a role.

It is downbeat; it is grim. And I haven't been able to stop watching it. I see something new every time.
And since that first viewing almost two years ago, I've discovered a whole new legion of fans who now consider H&B a cult classic. The good stuff does have a way of sticking around.
Why the appeal?
Hickey & Boggs is somehow everything I love about the private eye genre—even as it turns Chandler's idea completely on its head.
Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.
Well, Frank Boggs and Al Hickey are good men… but they are badly tarnished. As the film progresses, you will see them become afraid. And finally, they themselves become mean.
Real fuckin' mean.
If Raymond Chandler watched this movie, he'd have kittens.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to present Hickey and Boggs. Sit back and watch the classic private eye get his ass kicked hard.

Can't Hit Nothing

  You've got to love this Hickey & Boggs poster (one of two) created up by the folks at Not Coming to a Theater New You in anticipation of tomorrow's screening at the 92YTribeca. (Click on it for a larger view; you can find the other poster, featuring Bill Cosby, right here.) Culp's never looked so positively bad-ass. I want both for my office wall. As I mentioned earlier, I've been asked to introduce the film, which is a real honor. If you're anywhere near NYC tomorrow and want to stop by, you'll find complete details right here.

Expiration at the 2011 Edgars

I'm extremely happy (and pleasantly stunned, to tell the truth) to report that my fifth novel, Expiration Date, was nominated for a 2011 Edgar Allan Poe Award in the category of Best Paperback Original.

You can check out all of the nominees at the Mystery Writers of America's official Edgars website (theEdgars.com).

I was checking my Twitter feed when I saw that MWA's Margery Flax had posted a pdf of this year's nominees. I clicked on it, wondering if I knew anybody who'd made the shortlist. And then I literally did one of those goofy Hollywood spit-takes (with Diet Coke) when I saw Expiration listed there.

The winner will be announced at the 65th annual Edgars banquet on April 28th. It's a cliche to say that it's an honor just to be nominated, but in this case it's absolutely true.

I'm also proud that Thrillers: 100 Must Reads, edited by David Morrell and Hank Wagner, has been nominated for a Best Critical/Biographical Edgar. My contribution, an essay on Donald Westlake/Richard Stark's The Hunter, was reprinted at the Mulholland Books site just the other day. (Interestingly, the essay details the one time I met Donald Westlake, at ... wait for it ... at an Edgars Award banquet.)

Congrats to all of the nominees, big thanks to the judges and the MWA. And if by some miracle Expiration pulls off a win, I'm hosting a kegger at my house. All of you are invited.

(Ulra cool Poe and Raven photo by Kevin Dooley, from his Flickr set.)

My Love Affair with Mildred

 
You never forget your first.

First James M. Cain novel, that is. For me it was Mildred Pierce, which I first read back in February 1995 and promptly sent me off on a sloppy Cain binge (Postman, Indemnity, Serenade, The Butterfly). This was the time in my life when I was young and broke and trying to read every great hardboiled and noir novel I could afford. My supplier was Art Bourgeau, author and co-owner of Philly's legendary Whodunit bookstore. It must have been Art who turned me on to Mildred; I really can't imagine myself being lured in by that kinda dowdy-sounding title alone.

But that's the twisted beauty of a noir like Mildred Pierce. There are no crime lords, no fedoras, no snappy banter, no unsolved murders or any of the other things that readers associate with the genre. Instead Cain gives us a suburban California housewife hell-bent on providing a better life for her daughters, Veda and Ray. And like in every great noir, no good deed goes unpunished. The very sacrifices that give Veda a better life also mortify her; mother and daughter are locked in a classic inescapable Cain "love rack," and it's absolutely devastating.

Again: not the kind of thing you usually associate with noir.

This March HBO will be debuting its five-part mini-series adaptation of Mildred Pierce, directed by Todd Haynes. I can't wait. For some reason, I've never watched the 1946 Joan Crawford version; I think I've always worried that it would pale in comparison to the memory of the novel. (That, and I believe they threw in a murder, just to make it a more of a crime flick.) But enough time has passed, and I have a ton of admiration for the creators and actors involved -- including Kate Winslet, Guy Pearce and Hope Davis. Plus, HBO has proven it can do period pieces (Boardwalk Empire) like nobody's business. The trailer is so lush, I want to nuzzle the damned thing.

But you? You have a little more than two months. Pick up Mildred between now and then and give it a whirl. You might just fall in love, too.

The January Blanket

Sat up last night re-reading Of Tender Sin by David Goodis. He died exactly 44 years ago last night, not long after a snowstorm. (One rumor had it Goodis died while shoveling snow.) Last night in Philly there was more snow on the ground, and there's even more snow falling as I type this. In other words, the weather is pure David Goodis: cold and bitter and snowy. He seemed obsessed with Philadelphia in winter. Here's a passage I ran across last night:

[Somehow Darby] could see all the sleepers underneath the snow-weighted roofs, as though the snow were a blanket for each and every one of them. The January Blanket that kept them protected, even while it chilled them. For winter was the best time of the year, the time of chill and freezing. Winter was the big icebox that kept them from decay and made everything fresh and keen and clear. Like the cold, clear thoughts that were coming now. Because after all, he'd be paying for it, and he had a right to get what he paid for.

I think it's safe to say Goodis would have enjoyed the weather this weekend. Looking forward to seeing some of you at the tribute tomorrow.

(Photo courtesy PhillyHistory.org.)

Made in the 1970s

I'm sorry, argue all you want, but there are no better movie posters than the posters they made for crime films during the 1970s. (Dig the pulp paperback-style art! The creative use of white space!) Here are two of my favorites. Share yours in the comments selection.

It's All Goodis

Yesterday the Philadelphia Weekly ran Brian McManus's very fine cover story about none other David Goodis, Philly's dark prince of noir, and the small group of "Goodis Guys" (yours truly included) who try to keep the man's work and memory alive.

Three years after hanging up my journalism hat (you know, the fedora with the little cardboard PRESS card sticking out of it), I still feel weird being on the receiving end of the questions. Sometimes it's difficult to articulate why you're drawn to something, be it a writer's work or a film or a piece of art. But the more I read about Goodis, and the more I devour books about Philadelphia history, the more connections I see between the man and his city. I'm happy to see him receive the attention he didn't quite receive during his relatively short life.

With that said... it's not too late to join us crazy-ass Goodis Guys this Sunday as we gather at his grave site to pay him tribute.

Organized by King Goodishead Lou Boxer, the memorial begins at 11 a.m. at Roosevelt Memorial Park (2701 Old Lincoln Highway, Trevose PA, literally down the road from the PA Turnpike and just beyond the border of Northeast Philadelphia).

After a brief service we'll jump into a bunch of cars (I have two or three seats open in my ultra-noir family minivan) to tour some Goodis sites in Philly, including the house where he wrote most of his novels, the hospital where he died, and the joint where he shot pool.

Then we'll gather at the amazing Port Richmond Bookstore (3037 Richmond Street) for drinks and snacks (I'll be bring a bunch of Yuengling Lager), noir talk, and book shopping. The place is a former movie theater and it is literally stuffed to the rafters with books. And appropriately enough, Port Richmond is the setting for Goodis's most famous novel, Shoot the Piano Player, a.k.a. Down There.

And while Harriet's Hut, the dive bar featured in that novel, doesn't exist, we do have Atlantis, the Lost Bar (2442 Frankford Avenue), which features Philly's own Yards on tap and cheap eats. We'll wrap things up there with lunch.

Hope you can join us. If you have any questions about the event, feel free to drop me a line. If you live nowhere near Philadelphia, pull a Goodis novel off the shelf and join us in spirit.

The Return of Hickey & Boggs

Pulp Serenade's Cullen Gallagher tipped me off to a cool event: a screening of Hickey & Boggs at 92YTribeca in New York City later this month.

I've previously blogged about my obsessive love for this downbeat, sun-baked PI movie; I even hosted my own screening (along with Ed "Philly Poe Guy" Pettit) in Jenkintown, PA last year.

But Cullen says he and his cohorts at Not Coming to a Theater Near You have dug up a 35 mm print of the film. We were unable to do so for the Jenkintown screening, and had to make do with a projection from a digital file. Seeing it in 35 mm is a temptation too great to resist. So if all goes well with the work-in-progress, I'll be up in NYC catching Hickey & Boggs with Cullen and the gang, and maybe even saying a few words beforehand. Hope you can join us.

2011: The Year Pulp Broke

Can't believe I've been keeping this blog for over six years now. Started out as a lark, when I received my first fiction book deal, and figured I had to be like all of the other cool kids and creat a blog to promote it. I named this blog after my first novel, the now out-of-print Secret Dead Men, and the name kind of stuck. At times, the name is pretty damn on point: weeks will go by without a post. There's really no mission here, other than me writing about my own crap or books I like or movies I've seen or events I think you might like. With the advent of Twitter, my blogging has really taken a blow. Links to news stories or bits of random brain matter that would have ended up here now end up on my Twitter feed in 140 character bursts. (And please do follow me there! I'm pretty active on Twitter. Maybe more than I should be...)

So does that mean Secret Dead Blog is... left for dead?

Hell no. I still like my blog. I want to use it more often, for things that don't fit into 140 character bursts. And to goad myself into blogging a bit more, I asked the mad genius behind Proletkult Graphik to create this blog's first professionally-designed banner. See above; isn't it a scuzzy thing of beauty? (Check out Proletkult's sample section; if you dig retro pulp stuff, I highly recommend these guys. Or, this guy, as it were.)

And 2011 will be a busy year for me. Quite possibly my busiest ever. I have no fewer than four books scheduled for release (my own trilogy for Mulholland Books, as well as Dark Revelations, my third collaboration with Anthony E. Zuiker), as well as an assortment of weird comic book projects and reprints and other things that defy categorization. But like always, I don't want Secret Dead Blog to be all about the shameless self-promotion. I want to talk more about other people's books. Books I dig. Books I want. Books I wish I wrote. Obscure writers. Crazy pieces of Philadelphia history. And whatever else strikes my fancy.

Hope you'll stick with me. And if you've been reading and enjoying Secret Dead Blog over the years, thank you. I'll try to keep up... well, whatever the hell it is I've been doing.

Happy Holidays from Secret Dead Blog

And remember: if you hear someone sneaking down your chimney, and he's not wearing red, shoot to kill.