Great Authors Who Haven’t Published A Book in Forever

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(Source: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-person-using-a-typewriter-9572345/)

Something I’ve always wondered is why do some successful writers stop publishing new material for lengthy periods of time? Or go very long gaps between books? Why do some seem to give up putting out fresh stuff entirely, like Scott Smith seemingly has? Even after major success and screen adaptations.

Or take Harper Lee. She went an astonishing 55 years between To Kill a Mockingbird (1960) and Go Set A Watchman (2015), which is basically just a sequel to Mockingbird.

I know that these missing-in-action writers are still writing, of course. Writing is an addiction, even when it feels like it’s going nowhere. Even when it feels painful and frustrating to get even one word down on the digital page. Even when all you’re writing is just growing mold in an MS Word folder somewhere. I couldn’t imagine ever going one day not writing, even if it’s just a fevered entry in the personal journal I keep by my bed.

Now, I can understand writers who quit when they can’t get published, or when what they publish doesn’t land with readers. It’s demoralizing to work months or years on something only to hear crickets when you finally let it loose into the world. I totally get when hacks tap out when they can’t trick anyone into buying their B.S. Or lately these wasteful globs of DNA using AI to spit out worthless “novels” just trying to make a quick buck following a get-rich-quick course some scammy asshole on X sold them. I’m not talking about them. To hell with them.

But then you have talented wordsmiths with a fanbase. Writers who have concocted engaging best-selling yarns. And who have that most mythical of things–a rapt, paying audience. Why do they stop writing? Pressure to match the greatness of a big hit? It can’t be due to a simple lack of ideas. Writer’s block? Not buying that.

George R.R. Martin

(By Gage Skidmore from Surprise, AZ, United States of America – George R. R. Martin, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=193207931)

It would be easy to start this list with Public Non-Publishing Enemy Number One–George R.R. Martin– who keeps insisting Winds of Winter is on its way. However, I don’t really care about the fantasy genre, much less the whole Game of Thrones series. Besides, the man has put out enough dense material over the years to justify keeping readers waiting. His work has achieved a certain rarified level of literary success that few writers obtain–becoming culturally significant. Same as J.K. Rowling or Stephen King. This is not about book sales, necessarily. So no, that POS Fifty Shades of Grey doesn’t count, even if it did sell a bajillion copies. This is about meaningful impact to the craft of writing. So, I get him not wanting to just pump out a new book until it’s ready. He has a lofty reputation to maintain. But if one were going to compose such a list, he’d be at the top, for sure.

Gillian Flynn

(By aphrodite-in-nyc from new york city – This file was derived from: Gone Girl Premiere at the 52nd New York Film Festival P1070644 (15367612631).jpg, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=35956165)

For me, every year that passes by without a new Gillian Flynn novel is another year I’m left saddened and disappointed. It’s been almost 15 freaking years since Gone Girl, man. She wrote a short story called The Grownup in 2015. Which was decent, though truncated. It felt like the opening to a novel, but then just kind of ended abruptly, leaving me wanting more. She worked on a series called Utopia back in 2020, and seems to have a few other things in the works. But no novels since her mega hit Gone Girl, which of course became the runaway hit movie. It’s weird because Flynn writes in a sub-genre that I am not ordinarily attracted to, but I find her writing very evocative and seductive.

Scott Smith

(By The original uploader was David Shankbone at English Wikipedia. – Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons., CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3131746)

This guy has gone so long since his last novel that Stephen King even called him out in his book On Writing. I loved A Simple Plan, Smith’s 1993 bestseller that became a hit film starring Billy Bob Thornton and directed by Sam Raimi. It’s actually one of my favorite thriller novels, and why I’m a big fan of “suburban thrillers” that have some kind of shades-of-gray moral theme. After that it was thirteen years until his next novel The Ruins, which was also made into a movie. But nothing since. How do you just shut off the creative machinery like that? For some writers I suppose it truly is like bleeding onto the page. But it’s a shame to see a talented thriller writer sidelined for seemingly no reason like this.

Thomas Harris

(By MGM Pictures – https://studybreaks.com/culture/hannibal-lecter-modern-etiquette/, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56761155)

Okay, Mr. Harris (not pictured above) hasn’t exactly been totally quiet. His last book, Cari Mora, dropped in 2019. But that was 13 years after his previous book, Hannibal Rising, which came out in 2006. Like Scott Smith, Harris is also one of my favorite thriller writers. If you haven’t checked out his 1975 debut novel Black Sunday, about terrorists who try to blow up a football stadium during the Super Bowl, you really should. It’s excellent. Harris is, of course, best known for creating Hannibal Lecter, and for his massive hit The Silence of the Lambs. But Black Sunday shows he’s more than capable of creating a gripping tale outside of the cannibal psychiatrist.

Steven L. Peck

(By Ben P L from Provo, USA – Steven Peck, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74019028)

To be fair, this author isn’t only a fiction writer. He’s an evolutionary biologist who writes mainly essays and academic articles. He’s put out a collection of poems and some short stories. He’s only written two novels, including my new favorite–A Short Stay in Hell (2009), an absolutely absorbing existential horror novel about a man who dies and wakes up in a massive library where he must find the book about his life in order to escape. It’s brutal, short, unforgettable, and based on Jorge Luis Borges’ 1941 short story “The Library of Babel.” It’s also been nearly 16 years since his last novel, which is a tortuous long time to still be waiting for another book from a great author. I guess, just like the main character in Hell, we’ll have to be kept waiting a long time.

All the above authors are currently living, and could certainly grace us with more spellbinding tales on a more regular basis if they so desired. But special mention goes to one of my favorite authors of all time–Ira Levin, who went a freakshly long time between The Boys From Brazil (1976) to his last two books, Sliver in 1991, and Son of Rosemary in 1997, before passing away in 2007. That’s almost thirty years with only two books to show for it. It’s been awhile since I’ve read Sliver, and I recall it being okay. Son of Rosemary was a very disappointing follow-up to the 1967 Rosemary’s Baby, however.

It’s sad to think that even a master writer can lose their fastball after enough stagnation. That’s why you’ve got to keep at the craft as much as you can. Who knows how many other great thrillers we missed out on because Mr. Levin decided to step away from the typewriter. What a shame.

For sure, writing a good book is no easy task, even if you’re a pro. Writing can be a tortuous and labyrinthine psychological journey. Sometimes it really does take a lifetime to get it right.

Update on My Basal Cell Carcinoma (BCC)

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This past Friday, the day before Halloween, I had Mohs surgery to remove the tiny spot of skin cancer I had on the tip of my nose.

Well, it looked tiny from the surface, but it wound up being a little more invasive than I had realized. But more on that later.

What is Mohs surgery?

It’s basically a simple out-patient procedure used to treat skin cancer. It involves cutting away thin layers of skin until the cancer is completely removed. It’s a fairly common operation.

As I mentioned previously, it was the Grok AI that initially diagnosed me. I had been dealing with a bleeding spot on my nose for about 9 months that wouldn’t go away. I thought it was acne or some kind of deep cyst at first. I had those when I was younger, so I was no stranger to weird shit happening on my face. I fed all my symptoms into Grok, and it spat out a list of possible ailments, chief of which was BCC. Afterward, I quickly made an appointment with a dermatologist in Boulder, CO. There, I underwent a biopsy, which came back positive for skin cancer. So I then scheduled surgery for October 30th.

What is Mohs surgery like?

It’s perhaps a bit like going to the dentist. They led me into a large surgical room with a reclining chair. It was a seriously over-sized room for such a simple operation on such a tiny spot of cancer. But oddly that made me feel better. After signing a consent form and some other documentation, she had me lay back on the chair. Shortly after, the surgeon came in–A nice, friendly guy with long scraggly black hair. We talked for a bit. He gave me a brief overview of what to expect. He circled the spot of cancer on my nose with a purple marker of some kind. Then he left the room. Afterward, the technician injected my nose with some local anesthetic, which numbed me up pretty good.

The surgeon returned a few minutes later and the procedure began. Following the purple marks, he cut around the cancer cells on my nose, and sliced out a plug of flesh. A technician then made several very thin slices of the sample to determine whether all the cancer has been removed. Mohs goes layer by layer until all the cancer is gone. So, what’ll happen is the surgeon will do the first pass, bandage you up, and then take the sample to the on-site technician. During which you just sit in the waiting room with a big wad of cloth on the surgical site while you wait.

Sometimes, it requires multiple passes. I was fortunate in that the surgeon only needed to do one more pass just to remove a little bit of BCC that remained. So, after waiting about 30 minutes for the results, I was led back into surgery for round two. Then afterward I was finished with the surgery. Cutting out the cancer is relatively simple and brief. But afterward, I had a dime-sized hole missing from the tip of my nose.

Apparently, many BCC patients are surprised at how invasive the surgery actually is, even if the cancer looks small from the surface. I’m no different. I had a giant gaping wound on my face! But cancer cells can reach down deep, and the surgeon has to remove the “root ball,” so to speak.

Following the removal, the surgeon next stitched up my wound with dissolvable stitches. I’ve since watched a few videos of this being done, and I have to say, it’s a bit of an art. The surgeon has to stitch the deep layers together first, working his way upward to the surface. Then he applied special brown bandages meant to stay on for about a week. Then he placed a final white bandage to my nose that I had to wear for about 48 hours.

Does Mohs surgery hurt?

It’s pretty painless. It’s perhaps no worse than having a cavity filled at the dentist. Though your mileage will vary depending on where on your body the surgery is performed. The nose is a sensitive area. It’s also one of the most challenging areas to stitch up, as well. I only began to feel discomfort about an hour or so after I’d left the office, when the anesthesia began to wear off. And I’d describe the pain more as a mild itchy annoyance. Presently, I’m more concerned about the potential for scarring and infection, though I was told those generally keep to a minimum.

If you’re someone who stresses over going to the doctor, or has anxiety about anything more invasive than a check-up, I think you’ll find Mohs fairly tolerable. The only real stress I had was more related to having to drive back home to ND from Boulder, CO. Plus the mild embarrassment of having to walk around in public with a giant white bandage on my nose. I guess if you have to do this procedure, it’s best done the day before Halloween like I did. You could possibly wear a mask afterward and nobody would think twice. I garnered a few curious looks anytime I went into a gas station. I even had one curious cashier ask me what happened. But aside from all the social unpleasantries and the pain of driving a long distance, the whole ordeal was largely manageable.

Now comes the healing part. I was informed that skin heals at a rate of one percent per day. So it’ll take roughly three months before my nose is completely back to normal. However, I’ll be able to wash my face like I regularly do after about a week, and go swimming in two or so.

For now, I look a tad “Frankensteined” with the football-style stitching on my face. Hopefully, there is little scarring. My nose is a big enough protuberance that I don’t need it making anymore of an unsightly spectacle of itself than it already is. But time will tell. I have a follow-up appointment in December, and by then I’ll be able to determine how much damage (if any) has really been done. 🙂

The Fog (1980)

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(By Avco Embassy Pictures/ Debra Hill – This image can be obtained anywhere online or directly from the film’s initial distributors. This particular image was taken from the internet, at: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080749/, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48724378)

John Carpenter has recently come into the news due to weighing in on the ever-persistent debate regarding who is a Thing at the end of his classic 1982 film The Thing. MacReady and Childs are portrayed as the only survivors of the shape-shifting alien’s rampage in their blown-apart Antarctic base. But which is the Thing? MacReady or Childs? Or ar they both Things? Or possibly neither?

Carpenter says there is a clue that points to the answer, and that no one has ever gotten it quite right. However, to me, it’s obvious they are BOTH Things. And not because of any clue hidden somewhere. But mainly because of tone. As in the film’s apocalyptic doomsday tone. Even the closing music sounds like something from a funeral procession. They are both Things that don’t quite realize they are Things, which makes it scarier. Because the Thing is not a hivemind. Each particle of its whole can act independently, to the point that two separate beings who have been Thinged don’t even recognize that they are on the same team.

At least, I’m picking that option because it is the scariest version of things. There is not a note of hope whatsoever in the film. The human research crew is doomed from the start, as is the rest of humanity. As soon as a rescue crew shows up, they are going to find a few innocent-looking frozen bodies, which they’ll take back to the mainland. And then that’ll be all she wrote. No wonder the film bombed hard in 1982. It being up against the annoyingly maudlin E.T. didn’t help matters either. Thankfully, The Thing’s morphed into a cult classic and provoked an ongoing debate.

But anyway, what about a lesser known John Carpenter film, The Fog? Is it any good? Does it hold up like his alien classic or his other classic about the psycho in the mask?

I enjoy how Carpenter really lets you marinate in the setting of The Fog. The story is set in Antonio Bay, a small coastal town in California on the verge of celebrating one hundred years since its founding. Unfortunately, a major faultline exists under this quiet town that threatens to tear it apart. Its original founders ripped off gold from a leper ship, and then gave it bad coordinates so it would crash and sink. Well, the sailors are back from the dead, and they want revenge. And their gold back.

Like a lot of Carpenter’s work, there is a strong degree of fatalism in this one. As well as some very immersive staging. This is largely due to the genius work of cinematographer Dean Cundey, who lights the film in a way that is realistically heightened. I’m a fan of “real-world” lighting. Grainy shadows. Juxtaposed with appropriately artifical dramatic lighting. Videodrome is a perfect example of the type of lighting I like to see in a film. I’m also a lover of scenes that are lit deep red, such as the ventilation shaft escape sequence in Aliens, or the scene in Videodrome after Max Renn dons the headgear.

It’s very easy to see The Fog’s influence in modern stuff like Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass on Netflix, or the new Apple series Widow’s Bay (which I started watching but lost interest in and don’t care for). It’s perhaps Carpenter’s most underrated influential film.

As for the story itself? It’s rather light, plot-wise. The character work is absymally thin. Tom Atkins sorta plays the protagonist, who picks up hitchhiker Jamie Lee Curtis. The two then have some baffling love affair despite Atkins being twice Curtis’ chracter’s age and looking about as good as a week-old potato. Curtis’ mother Janet Leigh (of Psycho fame) is in it, as is Carpenter alum Nancy Kyes.

The fog stuff is, of course, done really well. There is a scary scene in the hospital involving a dead body that stands out. It might have been better to open the film showing the tragic event of the ship sinking, rather than revealing it as a campfire tale. But that was likely nixed due to budgetary constraints.

The Fog was a rewatch for me, as I hardly remembered most of it, except for the stinger of an ending. It’s worth checking out if mainly for Cundey’s fine work. All of Carpenter’s strengths visually are there, but also a lot of his writing weaknesses. It’ll be perhaps too low-key and bloodless for many. But what makes Carpenter films so good is how immersive, cozy, and intimate they are. He has a way of really putting you inside the world of his story. Which is not something I find a lot of horror films do today. He also writes a memorable synthesizer score, which feels very Halloween adjacent.

Is ‘It Ends’ Worth Watching?

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(By http://www.impawards.com/2025/it_ends_ver2.html, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82428273)

No. Not really.

I was intrigued by this film’s conceit–characters get stuck driving on an endless road. It’s part of the newish “liminal spaces” sub-genre. It reminded me a little of the 2019 film Vivarium, which shows a married couple getting trapped in some enormous empty suburban neighborhood for years. Vivarium was tedious, dry, and unfulfilling, though it at least had a suitably creepy conclusion.

It Ends really reminds me more of The Twilight Zone episode “Five Characters in Search on Exit.” An episode that made great creative work of a very limited stage setting by including five unique characters, and one hell of a twist ending that I’m pretty sure had to have inspired the idea for Toy Story.

Really, it’s easier to sort spooky films these days into the category of those that weren’t inspired by Rod Serling’s classic TV series. And that would be a small list.

It Ends features four diverse characters, three guys and a girl, on a road trip after finishing college, who after taking a turn on a road through the woods discover that it seemingly has no ending. But not to worry. They don’t feel hungry. They don’t get tired. They don’t seem to feel much of anything, actually. If they stop the vehicle, strange people from the woods wake up and start running after them screaming, and try to rip them apart. So the foursome has to keep driving and driving if they want to survive. But where is this road taking them? Who put them on it? And why are people chasing them everytime they stop?

This was an unsatisfying film, overall, that offers little answers or resolution. Which is something you can do if your film is an artistic puzzle that’s meant to evoke individual intepretations. Such as Blue Velvet. It Ends is very minimalist and utilitarian, similar to the run of very contained thrillers in the early twenty teens, like the Ryan Reynold’s film Buried.

And it seems content not to offer any explanations, instead wanting to present a metaphor something or other about the mundanity of the adult world. The characters are suitably Gen-Z. Passionless. Devoid of any sexual agency. Suffering from various mental problems and insecurities. Automotons. If you’re going to present neurotic young adult characters, at least make them entertaining. I felt like I’d seen all these character types in films before.

I’m a fan of this budding liminal spaces sub-genre. I enjoyed Backrooms this year for the most part, and all the YouTube content built up around the creepypasta. My favorite book recently is Steven L. Peck’s A Short Stay in Hell, which deserves a cinematic release. It’s an attractive genre not just because it’s in vogue now but also because it’s high-concept and low-budget–the producer’s dream.

I just wish there had been more variety in It Ends. More menace, murder, anything. It needed to be nastier. Look at how much juice was wrung out of the 22-minute Twilight Zone episode. After a few scares in the first act it largely peters out until coming to a plopping end. There were so many realistic ways to go that could have livened it up. I mean, if four people were stuck on the same road forever, they’d eventually go so batty they’d be trying to kill each other. Instead these four just catatonically keep going forward. I just feel a lot was left on the table. At the least, there needed to be an impactful twist ending.

Cancer with a Small “c”

On By Dean Brooks1 Comment

I have cancer, but it’s only the kind with a small “c.” A very small “c,” thankfully. Basal cell carcinoma, a type of skin cancer, and evidently the most common type of cancer overall.

It started as a tiny sore on my nose that just wouldn’t go away. Based on pictures, it likely started around the second half of last year. I thought it was just a blackhead/pimple situation. I had more than my share of those growing up, so I was used to contending with bleeding pores on my face. I have bad skin anyway, so this new development didn’t really alarm me.

Because I often work in harsh weather I figured it was just an ongoing skin issue. The tips of my fingers are sometimes chapped and cracked for months at a time, too. In the winter I usually have to bandaid up my fingers like football players do around any nicks or cuts. The air is dry here in the Upper Plains of North Dakota. It can get up to 100+ degrees F in the summer, to as low as negative 60 degrees F in the winter. The wind chill feels like razor-wire pulled across your skin. And then there’s the dust, which in high winds feels like getting blasted with little BBs. You need armadillo skin to endure up here.

So, for awhile, I ignored the little sore on my nose which would heal up, seem to go away, only to come back like an unwanted house guest. But after a few more months of this, I realized it was clearly more than just some temporary blemish. So, I did what any normal person would do–I consulted AI, of course. I fed my symptoms into Grok through my X account, and the very first thing under its list of possible causes was Basal cell carcinoma.

Here’s what Grok said:

Basal cell carcinoma (BCC): This is the most frequently mentioned concern in medical sources for a non-healing or recurrently bleeding spot on the nose. BCC is the most common skin cancer, often linked to sun exposure, and typically appears as a small sore, pearly bump, or flat red patch. It can bleed easily, crust/scab, seem to heal, and then bleed again—exactly matching your description. The nose is one of the most common sites. It’s usually slow-growing and very treatable if caught early, but it won’t resolve on its own and can grow deeper if ignored.

Afterward, I made an appointment with a dermatologist in Colorado. Because it can take six months or longer to get an appointment with a specialist up here in ND, I knew I’d have to go out of state for speedier treatment. My appointment was about a week and a half ago. During which, my derm took a biopsy to send to a lab. Just yesterday the results confirmed what I already strongly suspected thanks to Grok–BCC.

So, big thanks to Grok and Elon Musk. AI does have its uses beyond making atrociously distorted video and imagery slop flooding across social media and YouTube.

The biopsy went pretty quick and easy. My derm used a local ansthetic. I didn’t feel a thing, actually.

I’m having Mohs surgery to remove the cancerous cells from my nose later this month. Mohs is a simple procedure where they scalpel away the skin cancer layer by layer, testing each slice for the presence of cancer as they go, until it’s completely gone. It’s a tedious, long procedure that can take several hours, apparently. But it’s usually not very invasive. Judging from the appearance of my small sore, I’m not anticipating them having to go too deep. I’m hoping it remains superficial without having to remove too much of my flesh. I’ve been researching Mohs and BCC every since my diagnosis. What I have looks pretty tame and mild compared to other cases I’ve seen online. But then again, you can’t be sure until surgery is complete.

I also found, in my research, that Hugh Jackman, aka Wolverine, has had several brushes with BCC on his nose as well. It’s pretty common.

This little medical hiccup caught me by surprise because I take pretty good care of myself. At my physical last year my doctor even said I had a “young heart.” That’s not just sentimental poetry. There is such a thing medically as a young heart, and it has to do with the timing between beats. I regularly donate blood to the Red Cross, as I’ve mentioned before. My last donation was for double red cell on August 11th, in fact. I certainly don’t think I’m invulnerable, though. I’m 44. Something was bound to break by this point no matter what I did. I’ve been very fortunate health-wise for my entire life. That’s largely due to living cleanly, though genes have a lot to do with it, of course. My dad has a resourceful immune system. He’s 80 and still going strong, even after Covid hospitalized him. I always apply a mild sunscreen every morning, and add a stronger type if it’s a particularly sunny day. Even though I work in the sun often, I don’t spend too much time outdoors in it when I’m off the clock. I’m not some avid outdoorsman.

In the future I’ll be more attentive to anything that looks out of the ordinary. I should have made an appointment sooner and had this issue dealt with more promptly rather than waiting thinking it would just resolve itself. You don’t want to play games with cancer, even if it’s the kind with a small “c.”

I’m also real glad we live in a time where I can consult an AI, which actually gave me a solid diagnosis. Not that I’m recommending that anyone rely on AI. Grok is upfront with a disclaimer that it’s not a doctor. Though I keep hearing of AI contributing to medical evaluations. In fact, during my dermatology visit, the doctor, and the PA that saw me, had to gain my consent to record my voice. They employ an AI program that uses voice recordings to construct their notes from the session, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it also suggests diagnoses.

I’ll update following my Mohs surgery, which is scheduled for later this month. Hopefully, it all goes well, and I’m not left with too much scarring. I have enough of that. 🙂

Prince of Darkness

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(By http://www.impawards.com/1987/prince_of_darkness.html, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17211922)

Not one of John Carpenter’s best films, but an enjoyable cult classic all the same. To be fair, JC set the bar so high with Halloween and The Thing that anything else feels ordinary, even if it’s still better than most. The guy didn’t make horror flicks. He made horror art.

Prince of Darkness is a bit muddled in its execution, settling more for atmosphere and vibes than a coherent story, much less compelling characters. The narrative centers around a group of scientists, grad students, and one very sweaty and apocalyptically paranoid Donald Pleasence (was this guy ever not freaking out in a Carpenter film?) as a priest, trying to make sense of some creepy green goo swirling around in a cylinder in the basement of some decrepit L.A. church.

Evidently, this green slime contains pure evil, or something. It’s never really clearly stated exactly what it is. The whole thing feels made up as it goes along.

Prince of Darkness toys with some interesting ideas, while throwing around enough scientific jargon to at least sound plausible. Basically, the idea is that “evil” is a force of nature. Something that can be measured with physics and science doodads and whatnot. Except evil can also somehow influence the surrounding world telekenetically whenever it feels like it.

Earlier in the film it’s stated that the Catholic Church misrepresented evil as some figurehead, like Satan, when in fact it’s as common as gravity. But then later, after some of the college students have become influenced by the green ooze, they are are trying to conjure forth the Devil through a mirror, which acts as a portal to a dark dimension. Only the Devil’s hand appears in our world from the mirror, before Old Scratch is repelled back. Fans of Ridley Scott’s Legend will be reminded of Darkness’ appendage. And if Prince of Darkness works as anything, it’s as an unofficial sequel to the 1985 Tom Cruise-starring fantasy film. Whatever did happen to Darkness after Jack sends him hurling into the black void anyway? Now we know where he wound up.

The film is not bad, really. It has some clever ideas mixed in, and its many unexplained developments provoke questions in the viewer. What is the green ooze? Is it a personification of evil? Why does it happen to choose tonight to usher in the end of the world? Why does it need to possess college students and turn them into zombies to do its bidding? What exactly is all the scientific equipment measuring? Why do homeless vagrants surround the church, preventing the characters from escaping? Why are they killing people who try to leave? Is that really Satan trying to come through the mirror? What’s going to happen if he comes through into our reality? Is he going to end the world as we know it?

The film frustratingly doesn’t see fit to really answer anything.

Prince of Darkness boasts an impressively moody score reminiscent of the one from The Thing. There are some genuinely creepy sequences, such as the reoccuring “dream,” which is actually a signal sent from the future to warn the present. There are one or two good jump scares. Carpenter makes good use of his trademark over the shoulder shots. The make-up effects are satisfyingly gory.

While the story is not all there, Prince of Darkness is worth a watch, especially around the Halloween season. I just wish Carpenter had given the screenplay more time. It feels like a script that was two or three drafts away from being something. The ending stinger is pretty good, though. Especially if you like ambiguous Inception-like endings.

James Bond’s Unapologetic Sexism is Refreshing

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(My own photo)

We live in a very neutered age. Everything is very watered down. Everything is fake or feels fake. People walk on eggshells, afraid to offend. Even writers. And writers are supposed to offend. Not because it’s “shocking” or because they are just railing against cancel culture or trying to be alt-right or something. But because writers are supposed to communicate truth. Sometimes that means sharing raw subconsious feelings. Taking what people secretly think and putting it on the page for all to see.

By the way, none of those are reasons for why James Bond’s sexism is refreshing.

No, the reason is because while most male characters in modern literature and media have been effectively castrated in order to please feminist sensibilities, almost all shelf space anymore is devoted to so-called “romantic fantasy,” aka porn, aka masturbatory material for women. There are niches, too. Like the “monsterbait” sub-niche. There’s even a growing Bigfoot sub-niche.

Women read more than men, yes. But most of what they are reading is smut so they can jack off.

Therefore, I posit that if it’s okay for women’s reading demands to fill the shelves of Barnes & Noble with pornographic “literature,” it should be more than okay to feature a handful of books with some lovely male sexism. If I’m to contend with reams of books featuring minotaurs jizzing on college girls, I should be able to read books with male thoughts that men think all the time anyway. Only flabby-armed neckbearded soyjack male feminists will disagree. It should be my right, actually, to not only read it but to write it.

In fact, there should be more male sexism in books these days. We’re at a severe deficit. Scientists whine about a population collapse. I’m here pointing out the much bigger concern of there being inadequate male chauvinism in reading material.

I do try to help with my own books when I can, though even I’m not doing my part to bridge the gap.

I used to work at Barnes & Noble many years ago. One night some conservative asshole came up to me at the “cashwrap” (the check-out counter) and complained because he had come across a book titled “The No Asshole Rule” on display and he was offended. My supervisor happened to be nearby, a cute middle-aged redhead woman who dressed like a carnival fortune teller. She informed him diplomatically that Barnes & Noble did not “censor” any of their books. He huffed and walked away.

So, there you go. Bond can have his license to kill. I want authors to have a license to depict women as cunts whenever they feel like it.

I recently read Casino Royale, Ian Fleming’s inaugural James Bond book. I also watched the movie as well, so I could compare it to the book. I have to say, the movie is far better. I’ve never been a big Bond fan. I remember sort of liking some of the older Sean Connery films as a kid, but being turned off by the cartooniness in the ’90s Pierce Brosnan Bonds. I never watched any of the gritty Daniel Craig ones when they first premiered. But Casino Royale is a very solid action flick.

The first Bond book is an odd thing. Rather than starting off with an explosive narrative to really grab your attention, Fleming opts for something more low-key and subtle. An exclusive card game. It almost feels like it should be the third or fourth book in the series rather than the first. But it’s actually the perfect first book, because you get a good look into Bond’s psyche and understand his desperation as a man and a secret agent.

(By Designed by Empire Design – http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-2085176/James-Bond-movies-Moonraker-Casino-Royale–choose-favourite-poster.html, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37453644)

I can see why the movie translated the source material so well, though it begins with a more actiony first act.The main plot is basically the same. Bankrupt Le Chiffre, an accountant for bad guys, in a game of poker (baccarat in the book), to hurt his financiers. In the book it’s the Soviets, while in the movie it’s a complex of arms dealers and tin pot dictators. At stake is $150M, which seems a pitiful sum. There are cryptocurrencies based on Pokemons that have higher market caps. But whatever.

While watching the film, I panicked at the idea that Fleming’s sexism might be expunged from its cinematic counterpart. I was relieved to see Bond still refer to his female love interest Vesper as a bitch. Several times. Just like in the book. It’s actually one of the things that made the book stand out when it was published back in 1953. Fleming also adds some other flourishes, such as this one on Page 34, after Bond discovers he’s to be saddled with a woman assistant during his mission:

“Women were for recreation. On a job they got in the way and fogged things up with sex and hurt feelings and all the emotional baggage they carried around. One had to look out for them and take care of them.”

Love it. Because there isn’t a man alive who hasn’t thought that at some point. Especially when it concerns women in the workforce. I could give story after story, but that’s for another time.

There is also this fine nugget on Page 116 after Vesper is kidnapped by Le Chiffre’s agents.

“These blithering women who thought they could do a man’s work. Why the hell couldn’t they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave men’s work to the men.”

After which, Bond refers to Vesper as a “silly bitch.”

What makes this hilarious is that it all preceeds Bond evidently falling in love with Vesper after the conclusion of the mission. But the real subtext of Casino Royale is male virility. Or “mojo” as Austin Powers would put it. After having his testicles lashed during the torture session (which is just as the movie depicts) Bond frets about having lost his potency and being afraid to see Vesper again because he’s worried he won’t be able to get a boner. Well, he doesn’t say it right out like that. Fleming couches it all in as British a manner as one can. But the idea is there.

What follows is like a mini romance sequence, wherein Bond attempts to woo Vesper during their oceanside resort stay. Only to discover he’s chasing fool’s gold, as the silly bitch was a turncoat all along, if a reluctant and blackmailed one. All the same, she was already taken by another man. Even Bond has to deal with the reality that every man first learns in junior high school: There is always a guy who got to her first, and it’s never you.

I may continue with the Bond book series. I was honestly losing interest in it until the very end, after the big reveal about Vesper. It’s like how they say in wintertime you should take Vitamin D pills to compensate for the lack of sunlight. Unfortunately, they don’t manufacture sexism pills to make up for a lack of literary chauvinism. So I’ll have to keep reading. My health depends on it.

‘Jagged Edge’: A Rewatch Almost 40 Years in the Making

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

(Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8198266)

When I was five or six, I told my mom I wanted to watch a “scary movie.” At the time, I lived in a small town in Colorado, and right downtown there was a little video store we used to frequent every week to rent movies. This was the video store we’d rented classics like Alien, Aliens, Superman: The Movie, and many others.

I loved that video store. It’s a coffee shop now.

I saw a lot of films at that tender age that I probably shouldn’t have. But I’m glad I did. Aliens is still my number two favorite all time, just behind Jason and the Argonauts.

Anyway, for some reason, I requested to see a scary film, and for some other reason, my mom picked out Jagged Edge. Why that film and not one of the more popular releases at the time? Why not a Halloween, Friday the 13th, or A Nightmare on Elm Street? I’m not really sure. However, my mom has mentioned liking other films that star Jeff Bridges, and my mom does kinda resemble Glenn Close. So, looking back, I think I can see why she might have been drawn to the 1985 thriller. Plus, I suspect she didn’t want to expose me to a bonafide “horror film” in order to protect me from seeing anything too graphic or scary. But at that point I’d already seen the Alien rip out of John Hurt’s chest and watched Arnold blow away a whole police station after doing surgery on his eyeball. Watching Freddy Krueger eviscerate a couple of teenagers wouldn’t have really done anything traumatic to me at that point.

Like many films that imprint on us when we see them as kids, over the years, I have found myself haunted by bits of it that lodged themselves into my subconscious. Especially the creepy opening scene. So, for a long time I’ve wanted to rewatch it. But since I don’t recall ever liking the film, I kept putting it off until finally last night I gave in.

Jagged Edge is directed by the same guy who did Return of the Jedi and is written by ’80s spec script hotshot Joe Eszterhas. It tells the story of Jack Forrester (Bridges), who is accused of murdering his wealthy newspaper owner wife, and is defended by ace attorney Teddy Barnes (Close). As the trial progresses, the lawyer falls under the seductive spell of her charming client, a brief but torrid love affair begins, culminating in some twisty revelations that reveal the truth of whether Jack committed the murder.

Jagged Edge is sort of the Gone Girl of its era, and it inspired a lot of copy cats afterward. Which is surprising, as it’s quite tame by today’s standards, almost feeling more like a Lifetime TV movie than a feature that starred two A-Listers at the time.

What it’s mainly known for, of course, is the killer opening scene. A fantastic Michael Myers-esque POV of a masked killer brutally invading a posh seaside mansion, slaughtering a Hispanic maid, before turning his attention to Page Forrester, whom he ties to the bed and butchers. This is what I remember most seeing as a kid.

As for the rest of the film? It’s okay. It really sags as the trial gets underway. In Anatomy of a Murder, which was written by an actual attorney, there are excellent and realistic trial scenes. But it’s very obvious the writer of Jagged Edge had little understanding of the courtroom. There are, of course, the requisite “I object” moments, and the surprise witnesses, but on the whole, the trial stuff felt rather cliché and cartoony. Your typical Law and Order trials are done with better and more engaging verisimilitude. But remember, this was the ’80s and you could get away with half-baked legal sequences in a feature so long as they just looked right. No so much now with so much content and competition out there.

However, the writing succeeds better when it comes to the personal relationship side of things. Close’s Teddy makes for a sympathetic divorced high-powered attorney. Though not a particularly respectable one. What kind of middle-aged mother with two young kids living at home invites a man over accused of horrifically slaying his wife and maid and then makes out with him? It was just one of many questionable moments in the script. I can understand a lonely single mom falling under the spell of a handsome rich guy, but I just didn’t buy that maternal instincts wouldn’t kick in and override the lust in Teddy’s case. If anything, Teddy should have been a little younger. Close was 38 at the time. But the character feels more like she should have been around thirty, with no kids, and single. Close is a fine actress, and she sells the role mostly. But it’s an uphill climb.

Bridges is mostly good as the swarmy suspect who stands to gain millions as the husband of the deceased heiress. Though he is somewhat one-note and underutilized.

The main issue with Jagged Edge is structure. See, there was never really a doubt that Bridge’s character, Jack, did the awful deed. Maybe back in’85 it was okay to drag out the trial over most of the movie. But as I sat rewatching this, I found myself bored out of my mind because it was obvious that he was guilty but he was still going to get off. What they should have done was moved the exoneration to the mid-point. You could still plant the seeds of the love affair between attorney and client to come, but you suppress it until he’s declared not guilty. Then you can move into the romance. This would satisfy the unbelievability of a mom of two falling for Mr. Murder, if he’s believed to be innocent. It would also set up the third act a lot better. You could even have Teddy move in with him. Really seal the deal until the big revelation. Plus you would cut down on some of the courtroom stuff, which is the film’s biggest weakness. As a writer, you want to avoid scenes and sequences that expose your weaknesses, not pad them out needlessly. The Seinfeld finale had better courtroom scenes than this film.

By the way, Jagged Edge has the second best revelation scene involving a mechanical typewriter after The Shining.

But that structural fix aside, I have to say, the final twenty or so minutes of Jagged Edge are pretty good. Enough to salvage the movie, in fact. I was riveted, and once Teddy finds the piece of evidence that confirms Jack is the killer, it really took off like a rocket.

The final confrontation is the only other scene from this film I remember watching as a kid. I’m sure after the explosive opening, I tuned out and went outside before coming back in for the conclusion. I almost did the same thing as an adult. There was also a bit of a Mandela Effect. I swear when I first saw the ending, the masked killer ties Teddy’s feet to the bedpost before she shoots him. But after rewatching it, he only makes a noose with the rope, then lunges at her before she blows him away with the revolver. Strange how we misremember things.

Speaking of the gun, that should have been introduced at some point earlier in the film to satisfy the Chekhov’s Gun trope. But I don’t think it was. Which is fine, I guess. I can believe a single mom would be packing heat hidden somewhere in her bedroom just in case.

Jagged Edge is an okay thriller that’s worth a watch. But is it a scary movie, as I requested seeing almost four decades ago? Yes. At least the opening and ending parts are. They are very scary, actually. Most of the middle part sags. There are some clever red herrings and surprises during the trial. But I found I was way ahead of the film for most of it, and not because I saw it before. I didn’t remember any of the trial stuff. So it became a matter of waiting impatiently for the ending to finally come.

The music score is also quite good. Underrated, I’d say. Especially the one used for the murder scene. The movie poster is striking and memorable, also.

Is ‘Thinner’ Any Good?

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

(By Moviegoods.com, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21786900)

I read the Stephen King novella awhile back and remember it being an effective, terse little thriller. King is a classic “over-writer,” often making up for a thin story concept with an encyclopedic catalogue of characters and their backstories, quirks, and then webbing them up in a messy convoluted plot like a cracked out Spider-Man.

Not so with Thinner, thank goodness. That book got right to the point. As if some invisible editor demanded King put his own writing on a diet, and passive-aggressively the Maine horror scribe banged this out in retaliation.

What about the movie, though?

It’s darkly hilarious. Other than that, it’s a mixed bag. King content was all the rage in the ’90s. Every producer in the world wanted to slap out a film adaptation, no matter what the budget or quality. There was the flood of TV movies like The Langoliers, Tommyknockers, The Stand, and IT.

Quick review of The Langoliers, which I also watched recently–actually not as bad as I’d thought it’d be, but that’s not saying much. It’s beyond dated, and not just in terms of it’s CGI effects. It’s also a bit padded out, like it should have been under two hours instead of three or whatever. Not really worth watching anymore, honestly, unless you are some kind of King completionist. I watched it out of curiosity as I’d only ever seen glimpses of the awful special effects (even for the time) for the Langoliers.

Back to Thinner, this tiny little nearly-forgotten almost-gem of a flick from 1996.

Thinner tells the story of fatass scumbag attorney Billy Halleck, who accidentally plows into an old gypsy lady while his wife is giving him road head, and then, after using his courtroom connections to escape consequences, suffers the wrath of the woman’s father, some kind of super gypsy, named Tadzu, who curses him to the ultimate pre-Ozempic weight loss program. Getting thinner by the day until he completely wastes away. Also getting the gypsy curse treatment are the judge, who becomes a lizard creature, or something, and a police officer who helps cover up Billy’s culpability, who becomes a boil-covered mess.

Gypsy curse films are a sub-sub-niche unto themselves. Like, there may only be a handful. Drag Me to Hell, Sam Raimi’s 2009 horror about a bank manager who gets cursed to eternal damnation when she doesn’t extend some poor old gypsy lady’s mortgage, is one of the others. Actually, that’s the only other one I can think of.

True to King’s style, the story progresses in all sorts of absurd macabre ways as Billy attempts to undo the curse, leading to an escalading series of confrontations with the gypsy chief and his itinerant tribe. At about the midpoint, likely sensing that he was almost running out of story, King reintroduces the mafia don (seen earlier when Billy gets him off on murder charges), who decides to go on a one-man crusade against the gypsies to try to force the old man to take back the curse. The lawyer’s wife also starts cheating on him for some reason, inviting Billy’s wrath. It all comes together in a sick, sad, and twisted final ending that, let’s just say, leaves almost everyone getting their just desserts. Except poor Billy’s teenaged daughter, though.

I like these dark minimalist “morality thrillers” that stick right to the point. Not just watching, either. They are the kind of things I enjoy writing the most. I’ve also tried my hand at a curse story, too. Only it centered on a witch who curses a drunk driver who hits her daughter by making everything he tries to drink turn to blood until he completes a special 12-Step Program she devises. It turned out a bit whackier than it should have, though Thinner was a big inspiration for it.

Thinner is an almost-cult classic. Just not quite there. The film is unfortunately rather shoddy in places. Which is okay in some instances. Sleepaway Camp wasn’t the most photogenic, but its clever conceit overcomes it. With a bit less daftness, Thinner might have emerged like one of John Carpenter’s lesser films. Like Prince of Darkness. Likable enough, warts and all. But it just doesn’t quite come together. Then there’s the contemptible main character. No one is really likable at all in this film. So it’s no surprise it slipped off the radar when it dropped in the mid-90s.

Despite its flaws and flagrant simplicity, I still liked it. It has some “memeable moments.” Moments that stand out due to shock or outrageousness. And I’ll never not think of the gypsy chief’s recurring address of the lawyer as “White man from town.” The book is a fun read. I just wish the movie clicked along in the same way.

“The World Is Tough on Beautiful Things”

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Just a brief rant. This might constitute reason #874 for why I hate country music.

I’ve been traveling recently. And one night I happened to stop at a Dickey’s Barbecue. Dickey’s is a chain BBQ place with a Southwest vibe. There are wagon wheel chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and other Old West-style decorations and paraphernalia. I ordered a brisket combo, which was okay. The sauce was decent.

I sat in the back completely alone. Well, that was until one of the workers started sweeping and mopping and setting up chairs on the tables in preparation for close. It was only around 7PM, and they closed at 9pm. More than enough time to NOT have to be kicking up dust and dirt around me while I ate. But whatever, I guess a two-hour head-start should be commended.

Naturally, there was country music blasting from the speakers. That’s another pet peeve of mine. Loud music playing in an enclosed space, or just music being played loudly at all. That it was country made it even worse. But at least it wasn’t rap or death metal or something.

Anyway, I’m sitting there just trying not to let the many annoyances of the ambiance get to me when I hear what might possibly be the stupidest lyric in a song ever:

“The world is tough on beautiful things.”

I’m not sure who the singer or band was. It was just some country crooner twanging to some sweetheart, consoling her, evidently, over her hard life, which was due to her being beautiful. At least, that’s the gist I kind of picked up on it.

As I sat there trying to finish my brisket, with the employee sweeping right in front of my feet, I thought, well, if that isn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my 44 years of life.

The world is tough on beautiful things. What? It’s the complete opposite. The only thing the world is nice to, period, is beauty. Beauty is loved, cherished, protected, guarded, admired, and preserved. Ugliness is reviled and disregarded. Why is the Mona Lisa hanging behind bulletproof glass, with armed guards surrounding it? Because it’s a hideous example of artistic talent? Look at all the national parks like Yellowstone. Why are those natural formations preserved under Federal law? Because they are just so wretched to look at? What kinds of attractions do people travel thousands of miles and spend thousands per year to see? Are people crossing oceans to see a pile of garbage or something like Niagara Falls?

Well, wait a minute, I thought. I tried to wrangle out what this guy might have been getting at. Maybe he had a point, and I was just missing it. What if he meant “life is tough on beautiful things” in the sense that an attractive person has to deal with the pressure of attention and optionality in terms of mate selection. Hmm…is that really tough, though? That’s the definition of a privilege. Nobody would consider my life tough if because I was such a hot guy that I had to choose between dating three supermodels who were into me. Nor would they say some cover model’s life is tough if she had to choose between a millionaire, an astronaut, or a Harvard-trained surgeon to marry. That’s not really a tough life there.

Beauty is privilege, power, and often compels people to preserve and protect it. I mean, sure, it comes with some baggage. Some unwanted attention here and there. But I don’t think anyone, if they could choose their looks, would choose to be unattractive. Make-up and fashion are two billion-dollar industries devoted to helping women and men look good. People spend six figures on nose jobs and surgeries to look younger. There’s a whole looksmaxxing obsession going on right now. Is that because if you look better the world will be tougher on you? Are people trying to look better so that their lives will be harder?

Attractiveness is nothing but an asset. You’ll have an easier time socializing and making friends if you are good-looking than if you are not. Especially growing up in school. You’ll have it way easier dating. People are more apt to trust an attractive person than an unattractive one. Being hot is like living in a higher dimension almost. There is virtually no downside.

“But beauty is in eye of the beholder.” GTFO with that. Yes, some women might find Danny DeVito cute, sure. But no guy wants to look like him. And even fewer women would want to fuck him. They’d pick a guy who looks like Brad Pitt or Chris Hemsworth a hundred million times before DeVito.

No, it’s just a stupid lyric. Quite possibly the stupidest one ever, too. And I’ve heard a lot of stupid lyrics over the years. But now I have even more reason to hate country music. Because it isn’t beauty the world is tough on. It’s stupidity.