Gun Machine (2013) by Warren Ellis: Warren Ellis, a long-time comic-book writer (Transmetropolitan, The Authority, and Planetary, among many others) and acerbic futurist, creates one hell of a smart Pop detective thriller here.
Lonely, burned-out, never-was NYPD detective John Tallow starts Gun Machine with a bad day that quickly gets worse. The violent events of the first few pages open a door into a secret Manhattan world of murder and weird maps. And guns. Lots of guns. Hundreds of guns from flintlocks to modern, near-metal-less handguns. An otherwise empty apartment filled with guns arranged into a mysterious, incomplete pattern. And every gun attached to either an unsolved murder or a murder now known to be incorrectly solved.
Tallow's detective instincts get jump-started by this room of mystery, especially after the case is dumped on him because the NYPD not-so-secretly wants Tallow to fail and the cases to vanish as quickly as possible. A bad detective gets born again, though that rebirth may be short-lived. Conspiracies of power don't want the secret of the guns solved.
Ellis' prose is as pungent and cynical as ever, densely packed with information. The plot rockets along. Tallow and the other characters are sharply drawn. Sharply drawn, too, is our attention to the secret maps of Manhattan which Tallow discovers. A financial map based on the time it takes for financial offices to communicate with Wall Street. A map of gun crimes in Manhattan and the other boroughs. And the map the killer carries in his head, of Manhattan before Europeans came, a map that still surfaces in surprising places in the postmodern landscape.
It's a dark romp that engages with social and technological questions as it zips along, dialogue crackling and sparking, the narrative casting a cold eye on the modes of NYPD evidence collection, the surveillance state, the technical specifications of guns used in famous murders, the difficulty of parking in New York, the meaning of Occupy Wall Street, the malign rise of private policing, the dangers of too much exercise, an assortment of Native American tribes and rituals, and the politics of the police bureaucracy.
Gun Machine is too densely packed to make a great movie, but it would make one hell of an HBO miniseries. Highly recommended.
The Snowman (2017): adapted from the Jo Nesbo novel by Peter Straughan, Hossein Amini, and Soren Sveistrup; directed by Tomas Alfreson; starring Michael Fassbender (Harry Hole), Rebecca Ferguson (Katrine Bratt), Charlotte Gainsbourg (Rakel), Jonas Karlsen (Mathias), Michael Yates (Oleg), J.K. Simmons (Arve Stop), and Val Kilmer (Rafto):
Or, How Not To Adapt A Best-Selling Thriller. There's a lot of talent to waste in this movie, from director Tomas Alfreson (the superb Let the Right One In) to Michael Fassbender, Rebecca Ferguson, and Charlotte Gainsbourg in the cast. They also waste a perfectly good Norwegian thriller in the Jo Nesbo novel.
One problem is that everyone is miscast. Everyone. Val Kilmer was so miscast that his perceived problems speaking after treatment for tongue cancer caused the producers to dub his lines in what seems like an homage to some SCTV parody of bad dubbing. So that's distracting, as is Val Kilmer's obvious poor health. Rebecca Ferguson does her best with an underwritten sidekick to Michael Fassbender's colossally miscast Harry Hole.
One can note the attention to detail of the movie in its use of the detective's name, 'Harry Hole.' In Norwegian, 'Hole' is pronounced 'Hou-lay.' But a lot of Norwegians speak English and read English, so the hilarious English pronunciation of Harry's last name is a recurring irritant to the detective. In the movie, though... in the movie they just use the English pronunciation. It's distractingly hilarious every goddam time!
At points the movie keeps too much of the plot apparatus of Nesbo's densely packed novel. At others, the changes made range from dubious to completely infuriating (the murder of a character who doesn't die in the novel is the most infuriating of these moments). Pretty much all the detective work of the novel has been expunged. Also, the snowmen the killer leaves as clues aren't that scary. Neither is the killer when he appears. Who is the killer? All I'll say is that the nationality of the person playing the character seems like some sort of accidental clue.
The producers have also added this whole sub-plot with the Oslo police getting new laptops because... um... is this an advertisement for computers? What a mess. Not recommended because it's not funny enough often enough to be Fun-Bad. Though the suspension of disbelief required to accept that Michael Fassbender is a weathered, exhausted, alcoholic cop on the brink of suicide really is quite gigantic! But hey, at least they filmed in and around Oslo, albeit with an almost-all-non-Scandanavian cast for the major characters. Almost!
The Magnificent Seven (2016): based by Nic Pizzolato and Richard Wenk on a screenplay by Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, and Hideo Oguni; directed by Antoine Fuqua; starring Denzel Washington (Chisolm), Chris Pratt (Faraday), Ethan Hawke (Robicheaux), Vincent D'Onofrio (Horne), Byung-hun Lee (Rocks), Manuel Garcia-Rulfo (Vasquez), Martin Sensmeier (Red Harvest), Haley Bennett (Emma), and Peter Sarsgaard (Bogue):
The film-makers wisely go on a much different track with this new adaptation of Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai rather than simply ape the classic, elegiac 1960 Western of the same name. Now, the villagers are American, the enemy is a land-grabbing businessman (putting this version more in line with Shane or Pale Rider than the 1960 film), and the Magnificent Seven of the title are a veritable United Nations of noble mercenaries.
The cast is pretty much uniformly terrific, from Denzel Washington in the steely eyed Yul Brynner role to Martin Sensmeier as a Ninja Comanche. Vincent D'Onofrio is also great as an 'Indian fighter' who looks like a disheveled grizzly bear. And Peter Sarsgaard is oily and nutty as the evil businessman whose speeches sound an awful lot like the Republican Party platform of the 21st century. He's hired his endless orc-army of mercenaries from a company whose name echoes that of infamous current-day military contracting firm Blackwater, though the company is also a nod to the Pinkertons of the 19th century.
The main problem with the film is that unlike Yul Brynner's cowboy, Denzel Washington's character requires personal motivation for his defense of the village. Oh, well. None of the other characters require such motivation. Hollywood 101! But it's nice to see a multi-ethnic, multi-racial band of heroes. Director Antoine Fuqua, who has worked with Denzel Washington before on Training Day and The Equalizer, stages a number of effective battle sequences and also does nice work with the characterization of the Seven. It's a fairly engaging and occasionally rousing bit of popular entertainment. Recommended.
The Bone Collector (1999): adapted by Jeremy Iacone from the Jeffrey Deaver novel; directed by Philip Noyce; starring Denzel Washington (Lincoln Rhyme), Angelina Jolie (Amelia), Queen Latifah (Thelma), and Michael Rooker (Cheney): Solid, atmospheric thriller features Denzel Washington as a quadriplegic forensics expert and Angelina Jolie as the beat cop who becomes his on-site eyes and ears. They track a serial killer who seems to be playing a game with them involving old New York homicides. Things go well until the ridiculous revelation of the identity of the serial killer and his motives at the end. Worth watching despite the letdown of the last ten minutes, as Washington and the young Jolie are both charismatic and believable in their roles. Lightly recommended.
The Snowman (Inspector Harry Hole#7) (2007) by Jo Nesbo (translated into English from the Norwegian by Don Bartlett): Say what you will about the Scandinavians, but people sure love their mysteries and thrillers. Especially publishers looking for the next Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (or Smilla's Sense of Snow, going back a few years). That's why The Snowman is the first Jo Nesbo-penned Harry Hole (!!!) police procedural translated into English but the seventh overall: this Norwegian thriller is the most marketable of the Hole books.
Why? It's got a nigh-omniscient serial killer, the sort of serial killer who's nigh-omnipresent in movies, television, and novels but nigh-non-existent in the real world. Especially serial killers who actively seek out the cop hunting them for a showdown. So far as I know, this has never happened in real life, ever, anywhere on the planet. In fiction, though, it's such a common occurrence that one is surprised that there are any homicide detectives left alive on planet Earth.
But enough of my kvetching. The Snowman is a tensely plotted, satisfying twisty fun-machine that involves the horrible murders of several women over a 15-year period. Harry Hole, Oslo detective and possessor of a name that I personally would have changed for English-language publication, is an alcoholic trainwreck who is also the Best Damn Detective in Norway. He must stop a serial killer dubbed The Snowman, in part because The Snowman seems to have taken a personal interest in him.
One of the reasons The Snowman was selected as the first English-language appearance of Hole is, I believe, its cinematic touches. There are several set-pieces that seem to have been written expressly for film. And hey, Michael Fassbender has apparently been cast in the long-gestating Snowman film adaptation! He looks nothing much like the character described in the novel other than their shared attribute of Tallness, but so it goes.
Anyway, this is an enjoyable thriller. And Hole is an engaging character. The serial killer is ludicrous on a number of levels once revealed, but less so than a lot of serial killers (including every incarnation of Hannibal Lecter). And Nesbo makes Norway seem interesting in an odd way, like a small town masquerading as a country. The translation by Don Barrett seems solid to me. Recommended.
The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (2003): If this non-fiction book were fiction, it would seem ridiculously over-determined. As historical fact, it's ridiculously creepy and weird.
The 1893 Chicago World's Fair, dubbed the 1893 Columbian Exposition in honour of the 400th anniversary of Columbus arriving in the Americas, was also a hunting ground for one of history's most prolific serial killers AND a mentally disturbed would-be assassin with a fixation on Chicago's popular mayor. The fair itself was the greatest spectacle of modern history up to that point. Envisioned as a showcase for modern industry, architecture, and good old Chicago pluck by chief architect Daniel Burnham, the fair delivered against all odds.
"H.H. Holmes" is the Devil of the title. That's his preferred assumed name, not his birth name. He was a charismatic conman, pharmacist, businessman, doctor, and land speculator who came to Chicago in the late 1880's and discovered that he liked it there. The rapidly growing metropolis offered fertile ground for Holmes's endless grifting. It also offered a steady supply of anonymous young women who'd come to the big city to get jobs and found themselves the prey of this horribly prolific serial killer.
Holmes killed about 50 men, women, and children over a 5-year-period before getting tracked down and arrested by the freelance detectives of the Pinkerton Agency for insurance fraud in Philadelphia and subsequently revealed as a mass murderer. An awful lot of conclusions arise from his career. For one, policing was extremely crude in late 19th-century Chicago. Trained police detectives were few and far between not just in Chicago, but in America. And while several people suspected Holmes of being a serial murderer for years, they did nothing, in part because no one really believed the police were capable of catching anything other than a bribe. The relative anonymity created by an America in which transportation had outstripped communication also helped Holmes. So, too, did his charisma. Many of these women walked into the lion's den, leaving their husbands behind in a couple of cases, taking their own children to their attendant dooms.
And Holmes is more a premonition of Adolf Hitler than an echo of Jack the Ripper. He has henchmen, though none were ever brought to trial for the murders. He's eerily charismatic. He's committed to his version of an ideology, his grifting and speculation ultimately being Capitalism in its purest form. I'm surprised Ayn Rand didn't idolize him. He's the serial killer of the American Dream.
He's also immensely cowardly. He tends to kill with either gas or chloroform. And then he would make money from the bodies of the dead, selling four bodies he had reduced to skeletons to medical practitioners. Waste not, want not. Once captured, he spun out a series of partial truths, with the lies and facts changing each time. Thus, no final determination can ever exist of his murder total.
Meanwhile, the World's Fair came together to showcase Chicago to America and the world as a first-class city (this was, of course, New York's put-upon Second City). Daniel Burnham orchestrated the Fair, the White City of the title. The buildings were massive and imposing and painted white. The construction schedule was breakneck. The number of employees needed to make Opening Day a reality was enormous, and enormously beneficial during a period of world economic recession.
The politicking and negotiating and organizing that made the World's Fair a reality are a marvel themselves. Massive buildings went up in the time it now seems to take to fill a pothole. Things burned down or blew down or fell down and were rebuilt. Arguments over architectural style were had, most of them won by Burnham with his pseudo-classical, monumental perferences. People were stunned simply by the massive presence of the Fair. America's finest architects and engineers pitched in, including the legendary, crotchety landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead, designer of Central Park. The Fair became a monument to progress and to Chicago's emergence as a worthy civic rival to New York.
And the White City brought a flood of visitors who needed a hotel. And H.H. Holmes ran a hotel in a building he had designed with the aim of making murder easy and fun. For him, anyway.
Above it all rose the world's first Ferris Wheel, created by an engineer named Ferris (natch) and almost cyclopean in its scale: 270 feet high, with 36 giant cars capable of carrying several dozen people apiece. It was as if the first tall building had been the Empire State Building. And Burnham also had a hand in one of New York's most famous early skyscrapers, the distinctively nicknamed Flatiron Building.
Erik Larson -- who also wrote the excellent Isaac's Storm, about the hurricane that devastated Galveston, Texas in 1900 -- does a fine job here of marshalling and orchestrating facts in an entertaining fashion. He makes a number of interesting connections and suppositions. And he makes engineering, planning, and architecture fascinating subjects while also situating the narrative in its historical context of the rise of unions, suffragettes, and an increasingly integrated global economy.
Larson does go somewhat over-the-top in a couple of sections in which he tries to imagine things for which there were no historical records. This tends to lead him to speculate on unknowables such as 'What was this person thinking?' It's a hallmark of the history written for popular consumption. Given the horror of what we know of Holmes' actions, these attempts to depict crimes which we don't know the details of seem like overkill. Nonetheless, despite those reservations, this is a splendidly readable history. Highly recommended.
