The Split--Friday Night Heists #1

From October 14, 2009, through January 22, 2010, I watched a heist movie every day (that makes 101 days for the curious). I'm not entirely sure why I did it, but I know that my unemployment certainly enabled it. Perhaps I was training myself. Perhaps, feeling pretty wretched at the thought of being unemployed for some time, I just wanted something to look forward to each day. And heist movies--with their propensity for the precise, the logical, and the daring willful--always cheer me up.

Or perhaps it was the poster's fault.

You see, I have this beautiful re-release poster for Jacques Becker's Touchez pas au grisbi in my living room, and while I was spending way too much time thinking about what to watch on that day, I turned and stared at it for a while.

Gabin's old, crusty face. A stack of bills, sandwiched between a pistol and a pool of blood. I now needed to watch this movie again. Right away. The next day, I watched The Split, as I'd wanted to see it for a while, and it had finally fallen into my hands. I watched another, and another...until I just wanted to see how far I could go. Friends gave me suggestion after suggestion, and 101 days later, I felt a sense, however minor in the grand scheme, of accomplishment having watched that much heistacular cinema.

That said, I'm going to start posting my thoughts on some of these movies (hopefully every week), as well as new heist movies that I encounter along the way.

The Job: The Split

The Man with the Plan: Gordon Flemyng

The Year It Was Pulled: 1968

The Source: Adapted by Robert Sabaroff, from the Parker novel The Seventh, by Richard Stark (aka Donald Westlake)

The Take: $548,000 from a Packers/Rams football game

In this rarely seen and more-than-moderately enjoyable caper, Jim Brown plays McClain (the Parker alias here, as Westlake never allowed the Parker name to be used in any adaptations of his books), a hard-as-nails thief who's come to town to find his ex-wife (Diahann Carroll). He locates her through his old friend, Gladys (Julie Harris, equally--and delightfully--tender and tough), who's incidentally got a potential job for him. Gladys & McClain do a walkthrough of the stadium where the Packers & the Rams will be playing to see who goes to the playoffs, and the plan is to walk away with all of the cash pouring into the stadium that day.

To that end, as is often the case in these good ol' heist films, McClain's gotta get a crew together. And what better crew to get than Ernest Borgnine (the heavy), Jack Klugman (the wheelman), Warren Oates (the safecracker), & Donald Sutherland (the sharpshooter). Together, the six of them look to take over half a million bucks from the game, but after they steal the money, of course, that's when things go wrong.

Part of what I wanted to do with this heist marathon was figure out what exactly constituted a heist movie. Was it the fact that there was merely a heist/robbery/burglary sequence in the movie? From the get-go, that really didn't work for me. Despite the fact that films like Bonnie & Clyde and Public Enemies have bank robberies in them, I'm hesitant to call them heist films.

The rule I set for myself was that the heist(s) had to be something which was an utterly integral component to the structure--regardless of whether the heist propelled the plot, the heist was at the center, or everything built to the heist. The Split certainly complies with that criterion. The Split also is a convenient starting place for talking about heist movies, as it conforms to the conventional wisdom about narrative structure for the heist sub-genre. For me, there are three stages: planning, execution, getaway. I'll talk about this more with subsequent entries (as the exceptions to the rule are always more interesting), but suffice it to say that The Split conforms quite cleanly to this structural pattern (planning is 33 minutes, execution is 23, and the getaway is 33). The movie also slides very stealthily from planning to execution, for there is no straightforward, "Men, here's the plan," scene. One minute, they're picking up the sub-machine guns. The next, they're breaking into the stadium, but it takes you a few minutes to realize that they're not preparing the job anymore. They're pulling it. It's usually much more satisfying to see an unknown plan unfold, rather than having it spoon fed to us before its later flawless execution.

The Split's major draw, and one of the major charms of this sub-genre, is the casting. I mean, we already have this group of hard-ass criminals, but I haven't even mentioned James Whitmore as the creepy landlord to McClain's girl, or the man of smiling rage, Gene Hackman, as a greedy hot-shot police detective. Seeing all of these guys interact with each other is a tremendous treat. I've seen some cite one the movie's flaws as the introduction of the crew, as Brown has a sequence with each one where he very literally tests their respective skills (a fight with Borgnine, a car chase with Klugman, and so on). For me, this seems like both a novel and narratively motivated way to go about introducing these men.

After all, these characters are little more than skillsets personified. The bulk of the characterization is in the casting. It's not necessarily a bad approach, or at least not with these actors. And from a narrative standpoint, if McClain doesn't know any of these guys, why should he trust what he might hear from some schnook he's never worked with? But if he can make sure they're as good as he's heard, then he'd have the certainty he needs to proceed.

Besides--teaser alert--who wouldn't want a scene where the only way Warren Oates can break out of a vault is with his pants? I'll say no more.

It was that novelty of the ensemble that sparked my initial enthusiasm for the movie (look for Sutherland in later columns here, who proves himself to be a regular heistmeister). I also walked away with the intense desire to listen to Quincy Jones's score over and over, which was an easy thing to do, seeing as how I already owned it. Listen to the track called "Kifka Car Caper," and you'll feel like the coolest person on earth, no matter what you're doing.

Upon second viewing, it's still an entertaining flick, but it has its problems. The romantic sequences feel less like story fuel and more like boring burglaries of screen time. Also, as talented as Whitmore is, his scenes are so far away on the spectrum from the relatively even tone throughout most of the picture, it's almost as though he's in another movie altogether. Gordon Flemyng and cinematographer Burnett Guffey provide us with visuals that are highly competent, though not especially awful. I have read comments here and there that indicate it's not at all a solid adaptation of the novel. My apologies, but I can't speak to that yet, as I've only read the first 6 Parker novels. I really must get to that, mustn't I?

All in all, because of the cast and the overall enjoyable structure of the movie, I do recommend The Split, particularly if you can find a copy in scope. MGM, why won't you release a copy of this movie? Oh, right, you've got...a few other things on your plate.

Next week, I'll be looking at a new film (i.e. one I didn't watch during the marathon) that's got a fantastic title: La Raison du plus faible (The Law of the Weakest).

Bonus Feature:

Here's the breakdown of the original heist marathon, for those of you who haven't seen it. You'll note some...interesting choices...and believe me, I can justify them all.

The Films:

10/14—Touchez pas au grisbi (dir. Jacques Becker, 1954)
10/15—The Split (dir. Gordon Flemyng, 1968)
10/16—Out of Sight (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 1998)
10/17—The Thomas Crown Affair (dir. John McTiernan, 1999)
10/18—Topkapi (dir. Jules Dassin, 1964)
10/19—Heat (dir. Michael Mann, 1995)
10/20—Thief (dir. Michael Mann, 1981)
10/21—The Thomas Crown Affair (dir. Norman Jewison, 1968)
10/22—Ronin (dir. John Frankenheimer, 1998)
10/23—Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (dir. Michael Cimino, 1974)
10/24—The Good Thief (dir. Neil Jordan, 2002)
10/25—Bob le flambeur (dir. Jean-Pierre Melville, 1955)
10/26—The Killing (dir. Stanley Kubrick, 1956)
10/27—Heist (dir. David Mamet, 2001)
10/28—Bottle Rocket (dir. Wes Anderson, 1996)
10/29—The Italian Job (dir. Peter Collinson, 1969)
10/30—Quick Change (dir. Howard Franklin & Bill Murray, 1990)
10/31—The Anderson Tapes (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1971)
11/01—$ (dir. Richard Brooks, 1971)
11/02—The Hot Rock (dir. Peter Yates, 1972)
11/03—Ocean’s Eleven (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 2001)
11/04—Ocean’s Twelve (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 2004)
11/05—Ocean’s Thirteen (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 2007)
11/06—Inside Man (dir. Spike Lee, 2006)
11/07—Sneakers (dir. Phil Alden Robinson, 1992)
11/08—Underneath (dir. Steven Soderbergh, 1995)
11/09—Dog Day Afternoon (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1975)
11/10—Die Hard (dir. John McTiernan, 1988)
11/11—The Asphalt Jungle (dir. John Huston, 1950)
11/12—The Lavender Hill Mob (dir. Charles Crichton, 1951)
11/13—Criss Cross (dir. Robert Siodmak, 1948)
11/14—Band of Outsiders (dir. Jean-Luc Godard, 1964)
11/15—The Getaway (dir. Sam Peckinpah, 1972)
11/16—The Wild Bunch (dir. Sam Peckinpah, 1969)
11/17—Dead Presidents (dir. The Hughes Brothers, 1995)
11/18—The Great Muppet Caper (dir. Jim Henson, 1981)
11/19—Charley Varrick (dir. Don Siegel, 1973)
11/20—Straight Time (dir. Ulu Grosbard, 1978)
11/21—After the Sunset (dir. Brett Ratner, 2004)
11/22—The Italian Job (dir. F. Gary Gray, 2003)
11/23—Three Kings (dir. David O. Russell, 1999)
11/24—The Code (dir. Mimi Leder, 2009)
11/25—Blue Collar (dir. Paul Schrader, 1978)
11/26—Fantastic Mr. Fox (dir. Wes Anderson, 2009)
11/27—The Driver (dir. Walter Hill, 1978)
11/28—Family Business (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1989)
11/29—The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid (dir. Philip Kaufman, 1972)
11/30—City of Industry (dir. John Irvin, 1997)
12/01—Classes tous risques (dir. Claude Sautet, 1960)
12/02—Le Cercle rouge (dir. Jean-Pierre Melville, 1970)
12/03—The Usual Suspects (dir. Bryan Singer, 1995)
12/04—Beverly Hills Cop II (dir. Tony Scott, 1987)
12/05—Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (dir. Guy Ritchie, 1998)
12/06—The Brink’s Job (dir. William Friedkin, 1978)
12/07—Kansas City Confidential (dir. Phil Karlson, 1952)
12/08—Blood and Wine (dir. Bob Rafelson, 1997)
12/09—City on Fire (dir. Ringo Lam, 1987)
12/10—Mannequin (dir. Michael Gottlieb, 1987)
12/11—Two-Way Stretch (dir. Robert Day, 1960)
12/12—A Man, a Woman and a Bank (dir. Noel Black, 1979)
12/13—Ocean’s Eleven (dir. Lewis Milestone, 1960)
12/14—Big Deal on Madonna Street (dir. Mario Monicelli, 1958)
12/15—Kelly’s Heroes (dir. Brian G. Hutton, 1970)
12/16—Once a Thief (dir. John Woo, 1991)
12/17—Point Break (dir. Kathryn Bigelow, 1991)
12/18—The Silent Partner (dir. Daryl Duke, 1978)
12/19—A Fish Called Wanda (dir. Charles Crichton, 1988)
12/20—5 Against the House (dir. Phil Karlson, 1955)
12/21—To Catch a Thief (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1955)
12/22—Reservoir Dogs (dir. Quentin Tarantino, 1992)
12/23—High Sierra (dir. Raoul Walsh, 1941)
12/24—Seven Thieves (dir. Henry Hathaway, 1960)
12/25—How to Steal a Million (dir. William Wyler, 1966)
12/26—The Aura (dir. Fabián Bielinsky, 2005)
12/27—Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (dir. Simon Wincer, 1991)
12/28—Full Contact (dir. Ringo Lam, 1993)
12/29—Cops and Robbers (dir. Aram Avakian, 1973)
12/30—The Bank Job (dir. Roger Donaldson, 2008)
12/31—Cruel Gun Story (dir. Takumi Furukawa, 1964)
01/01—The Ladykillers (dir. Alexander Mackendrick, 1955)
01/02—Die Hard with a Vengeance (dir. John McTiernan, 1995)
01/03—Going in Style (dir. Martin Brest, 1979)
01/04—The Bank Shot (dir. Gower Champion, 1974)
01/05—Odds Against Tomorrow (dir. Robert Wise, 1959)
01/06—The Hard Word (dir. Scott Roberts, 2002)
01/07—Grand Slam (dir. Guiliano Montaldo, 1967)
01/08—The Heist (dir. Stuart Orme, 1989)
01/09—Hudson Hawk (dir. Michael Lehmann, 1991)
01/10—Flawless (dir. Michael Radford, 2007)
01/11—The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery (dir. Charles Guggenheim & John Stix, 1959)
01/12—The Hard Easy (dir. Ari Ryan, 2005)
01/13—Larceny, Inc. (dir. Lloyd Bacon, 1942)
01/14—Welcome to Collinwood (dir. Anthony & Joe Russo, 2002)
01/15—Gonin (dir. Takashi Ishii, 1995)
01/16—Set It Off (dir. F. Gary Gray, 1996)
01/17—The Real McCoy (dir. Russell Mulcahy, 1993)
01/18—Robbery (dir. Peter Yates, 1967)
01/19—The League of Gentlemen (dir. Basil Dearden, 1960)
01/20—Le Deuxieme soufflé (dir. Jean-Pierre Melville, 1966)
01/21—Rififi (dir. Jules Dassin, 1955)
01/22—Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (dir. Leonard Nimoy, 1986)

The Breakdown:

101: Films

101: Days

51: Films Watched for the First Time

24: Most Films from One Decade (1990s)

13: Directors with Multiple Films in the Marathon

7: Most Films with One Actor (George Clooney)

6: Remakes

5: Most Films by One Director (Steven Soderbergh)

5: Most Films from One Year (1978)

3: Number of films it takes to inflate actor/director stats (not a complaint, merely an acknowledgement)


The Loot:

A few swirls of paint, a cuss-ton of food, a jeweled dagger, some jeweled eggs, a little black box, a device that can turn lead into gold, a case that should contain ice skates but probably doesn’t, 2 humpback whales, 1 whole bank, and eleventy gajillion dollars in cash, stones, and gold bars.

And Kim Cattrall.

We Hardly Knew Ye, Chick Vennera--Thursday Television #1

Remember this, dear reader. It always comes back to Night Court.

You see, whenever my friends get together, if certain folks are around--myself included--a conversation about Night Court will inevitably ensue (especially during any kind of playoff games, for some odd reason). Whether you grew up with it or not, I stick up for its comedic greatness. Like most shows, it has high highs, and low lows, and there was one episode in particular that proved quite a cosmic coincidence for me and my friends. I fear this story will not be as good in the retelling. If it's not, um, sorry.

To explain:

I was out with my friends Dave & Colin at a downtown brew pub. We'd just finished watching the first two chapters of a most excellent serial--The Adventures of Captain Marvel, which deserves an entry all its own--and we were just hanging out, doing two things that we do often: talking about movies, and drinking.

Involved in our conversation, ignoring the music blasting from the speakers, we were then interrupted by the burly gent in the booth next to us, who yelled, "Hey! I got a trivia question for you! Can you tell me what movie this song is from?"

Taken aback and trying to figure out a) what the song was (besides disco), and b) why the hell this guy was so excited to ask us, we sat silent, and we listened. Breaking the silence, he yelled again. "I'll give you a hint, it's got Jeff Goldblum in it."

It was all I could do not to bust up laughing at this point. Really? Jeff Goldblum is our hint? Thanks, total stranger! I mean, in exactly what world is Jeff Goldblum the go-to hint for damn near anything?

Colin and I stalled, pretending like we were on the cusp of the answer, as though if we put our hands to our chins and squinted just enough, oh we'd have it. I was about to signal Dave to get out his iPhone to look it up, but he was already on it. Within a few seconds, he quickly found the answer.

The song was "Last Dance," by Donna Summer, from the 1978 movie Thank God It's Friday. "That's right!" he exclaimed. He then proceeded to talk about how much he loved the song and the movie. It was, apparently, a childhood favorite. Dave brought up a jpeg of the poster (check it out, NOW) for the guy, and he went ape-shit, screaming at his buddies to come over and take a look. The guy thanked Dave profusely for showing him the poster, and the three of us returned to our conversation, thoroughly bemused. Something like 20 minutes later, the guy comes back to our table and thanks us for talking with him about the movie, and Dave in particular for bringing up the poster. He rambled on, but the comment that stuck with me was, "Man, when I saw that movie, I didn't think I was ever gonna get any pussy!"

And out of a combination of discomfort, humor, and genuine absurdity, the three of us just lost it. He left shortly thereafter, and we decided we must see this movie.

Almost three months later, several of my friends and I get together, and we watch this Oscar winning masterpiece (for the song) by a first-time filmmaker (who would go on to direct his second, Weekend at Bernie's II; we're waiting with bated breath for his third).

There's no plot summary I can give better than the poster. If you didn't look at it, scroll back up now and do so. When we started the movie, this is what greeted us.

And what followed was a captivatingly inept network narrative about people...ehhhh...without much in the way of actual story. It hinges on a dance contest...that only lasts 8 minutes! Jeff Goldblum tries desperately to break up a marriage...for a night of sleazy, meaningless sex! Donna Summer knows she can make it...if she can just break into the DJ booth! Debra Winger...realized she should never do slapstick comedy again! Oh, and the Commodores eventually show up...and then half an hour later, they actually play!

And then, there's the mystery that is...Chick Vennera, here bringing Marv Gomez, aka Leather Man, to life.

As I'm sure you get from these two clips, TGIF was a hilariously awkward, almost inexplicable movie, and one best experienced with a group of great friends, with a great deal of scotch, bourbon, and beer at the ready.

So, after the movie, in the midst of our befuddlement at what we'd just beheld, we debated what to watch next. And, for those of you who don't know me, there's quite the selection in my collection. (What the hell is it with me and unfortunate rhymes today?)

And of all the discs that we could have chosen, we chose Episode 17 of Season 3 of Night Court, entitled "The Mugger." It's the one where Dan's on the trail of a hot stock tip, and, more importantly, a guy who mugged Christine ends up taking hostages. Much to the chagrin of a tubby, half-naked, gunbelt-strapped, M16-wielding army surplus store owner, Christine eventually negotiates with the mugger, promising him a fair trial and defusing the situation.

'member it?

Well, we get ten minutes into the episode. We see the mugger for the first time (he was masked at the beginning). I hear somebody say, "Isn't that Leather Man?"

And sure enough, it was; I double checked afterward. Chick Vennera, who we'd just seen as the guy for whom, "dancing is everything, and everything else is BULLSHIT," played the mugger on Night Court. And by night's end, thanks to a wonderful cosmic coincidence, we'd had what I'm sure was the only Chick Vennera double feature ever.

Oh, Chick Vennera...we hardly knew ye...and that's probably for the best.

Like I said, folks, it always comes back to Night Court.

And for those of you for whom I was right--if the story wasn't as funny in the retelling--well, hell, if nothing else, you should count your lucky stars that you too have now seen the Columbia lady shake her groove thing.

Change of Plans--Wednesday Comics #1

I had every intention of posting my analysis of a Queen & Country page today, but it occurred to me that the longer I go without reporting on the C2E2 con, the less relevant what I have to say becomes. With that in mind, a brief report.

Overall, my experience was positive, but the con's main negative is the reason for my post, and it has to do with two of DC Comics' panels on Saturday.

The Brightest Day panel--the first DC panel of the day--was good fun. Even though there wasn't much in the way of news, the members of the panel did their jobs, in as much as they got us excited about what we are reading now and what we will be reading in the weeks and months ahead. The participants were lively and engaged, and I confess to being a fan of the comedy stylings of Ian Sattler.

But the second panel...that's where it went wrong. This was the DC Universe Editorial presentation, which was to be hosted by newly crowned Co-Publishers Dan Didio & Jim Lee and the new Chief Creative Officer, Geoff Jones.

And none of them showed up. There was neither acknowledgment of nor explanation for their absence. What's even stranger is that there was no mention of their absence in the press on the event.

Now, the guys I was with and I might have missed an announcement about this. Maybe there was a posting at the DC booth. If so, then you can all ignore this rant. If not, then can SOMEONE please explain to me why the new "Big Three" were no-shows? This is a brand new show in Chicago, and it behooves the publisher to have its heavy hitters running what should be the company's biggest panel on what is supposed to be the busiest day of the convention. Sattler and company did well enough (kudos to James Robinson and his surliness), but with the panel already being disappointing on the level of expectation, the seeming lack of concrete news combined with the fans' questions made for a less-than-enjoyable experience.

By the time my friends and I showed up for DC's third panel of the day, there were less people in the audience, and rightfully so, since there was a grand total of 3 people who showed up to present at the panel. (Note: Gail Simone did walk in after the panel started, and while she's one of those people who makes EVERYTHING better, we only had two hours left in the day. We wanted to get more out of our con than the same old fan questions.)

I was really pissed about the absence of the new heads of DC, and it's all but passed. I just want to know why it happened. If you've run across this entry and can put me in the wrong for being pissed, please do.

The rest of the con met or surpassed my expectations, and by all reports a successful launch for Chicago's newest show. There were plenty of guests, and, almost as important, there was plenty of room for everyone to move around. I got to meet Jonathan Hickman (who promises indie work in the not-too-distant that will surpass The Nightly News in design, which excites me no end), Mike Mignola (who seemed fine that no one was in line for him), and Ben Templesmith (who I've been waiting to meet for some time, and was impressed with how I held myself together). I also got the chance to see Carla "Speed" McNeil (who generously sketched Tara Chace for me) and Steve Bryant again, Steve in particular always being a great guy to chat with. Check out the "Support Athena Voltaire" and "Atomic Tiki Studio" links to the left to see some of his art and support his Kickstarter campaign.

More importantly, I did the two things I wanted to do that day. First, I kept my spending well in check. Second, Brian Hurtt did a fantastic sketch of Queen & Country's Paul Crocker (the young version) to add to my collection. Check it out here.

Most importantly, I went with my good friends Brad and Mark. And ultimately, they're the guys that made this whole thing fun.

Until next time, everybody. Next week: the analysis of the Q&C page, as advertised.

Read: The Engineer: Konstrukt, by Brian Churilla & Jeremy Shepherd

Watch: Going in Style (dir. Martin Brest, 1979)

Listen to: Big Fun, by Miles Davis

Eat at: Beefaroo

Getting the Memo--Tuesday Tomes #1

There is a moment about 2/3 through Private Wars, where author Greg Rucka uses the text of a memo not only to elide time in the story, but also to put a bullet through the plate glass window of the status quo, through which I'd previously thought I could see so clearly. And to think it wasn't even the text of the memo, but rather the "To" line, that did the shattering.

We've all had those moments where we have a piece of grave news dropped on us with the utmost mundanity. While seeming insignificant to others, both the what and the how stick with us forever. That Rucka knows this fact is laudable; that he demonstrates it so deftly is what sets him apart from his peers in the genre.

I give this example not only because it was so striking to me personally, but also because it illustrates what Rucka's Queen & Country series is...and what it isn't. Set among the ranks of the Special Operations Section of the British Secret Service, Queen & Country is the anti-James Bond (at least pre-Daniel Craig). Battles are fought as much with words as with fists, and they are won as much with pens as with pistols. Far from a world of laser-firing Omega watches and properly chilled Dom Perignon, Rucka never lets the reader forget his vision of the world of spies.

In short, it's a dirty business, best left to the indomitable and the sly.

Private Wars is the second novel set in the Q&C world (but the thirteenth story, the other eleven being comic volumes). Minder (i.e. operative) Tara Chace has returned from the devastating events of A Gentleman's Game and Operation: Red Panda, only to find herself plunged into an even more complex, dangerous mission in Uzbekistan. The current Uzbek president is close to death, leaving one of his two children to take office. Chief of the Minders, Paul Crocker, orders Tara to sneak into the country--without any local help--and come back out with the pro-West son and his child, before the power-hungry daughter gets to them. Add the complications of an arms deal come back to haunt SIS and Chace already being at her breaking point, and you have the setup for the most emotionally wrenching and politically labyrinthine tale Rucka has offered yet. (And since I've got at least a couple of good friends reading this series right now, that's all the plot I'm going to declassify.)

Private Wars serves as a turning point in the series. New characters are introduced, notably a new SIS Deputy Chief and a new CIA contact for Crocker, which shake up the long established relationships in the book from the word go. Supporting characters, particularly fellow Minders Nick Poole and Chris Lankford, are given more time to shine--an advantage over the comic format, of which Rucka makes the most, without ever slowing the book's momentum.

And Britain's top spy finds herself even more at odds with Britain's top spymaster. The increasingly rocky relationship between the icy Chace and her boss, the taciturn Crocker, gives the story its foundation and propels it forward. And beyond the fact that I...respond somewhat favorably to tales of grumpy spies, one of the most wonderfully accessible qualities of this book (the series, too) is that anyone who has worked in any sort of office can identify with the office politics these characters suffer. This identification, in conjunction with the realism with which the service is portrayed, makes the book's stakes and its characters much less abstract, much more personal.

Private Wars also seems like a turning point for Rucka's writing. He is already known as an author who gives his characters not only breath but brains, and he's especially praised for the complexity and authenticity of his female characters. But the increased maturity with which he writes Chace here--trying to speed through the intersection of duty and tragedy--points to the type of work he recently completed with Batwoman in Detective Comics and is beginning with Dex Parios in Stumptown.

Rucka has also grown even more fastidious (which I didn't think was possible) with respect to the integration of his research and his fiction. After reading this book, it occurs to me that, if I ever got lucky enough to interview Rucka, one of the first things I would ask him would be where he gets his news. I've heard him referred to as "Tom Clancy with a brain." Which is insulting, because this book proves Rucka's ever-growing place as a consummate--yet never overblown--stylist, where Clancy's work is a consummate, overblown bore.

Rucka gives us thoughtful prose, and with a Hammett-esque snap.

I cannot wait for October's release of the third novel, The Last Run, which will lead into the new volume of Q&C comics. I'm almost positive I know where the story will go.

And I know I'm going to love it when Rucka proves me wrong.

Bonus Feature:

I mentioned that the Q&C series is comprised of both comics and novels. To that end, because I've not seen it elsewhere very often, here is a comprehensive read order for the series to date.

Operation: Broken Ground

Operation: Morningstar

Operation: Crystal Ball

Operation: Blackwall

Declassified, Vol. 1 (technically published before Blackwall, but directly sets up Storm Front)

Operation: Storm Front

Operation: Dandelion

Operation: Saddlebags

Declassified, Vol. 2

Declassified, Vol. 3

A Gentleman's Game

Operation: Red Panda

Private Wars

The Last Run (available October 26)

Refilling the Empty Hand

Right. It occurs to me that I have neglected my meager chronicle for much too long, and I return to it now for two reasons.

1) A friend of mine gave me 4 instructions yesterday, and writing each and every day this week was on the list (others include taking a look at the Shoedini, watching as much of The Mighty Boosh as I can, and having a John Parr dance party).

2) My Jim Thompson quote rant has been my last post for long enough. Those of you who read me but don't know me have likely thought that I went bug-fuck mad. Those of you who do know me...well, keep schtum, would you?

Now, apropos of daily scrawls, I know that the friend in question meant that I should be working on my variety of undeveloped and long percolating ideas for comics, prose, musical theatre, etc. And I will indeed start working on those again. But I need something both regimented and something that the rest of you can read.

Thus, I'm kinda rebooting the ol' blog. Hollywood studios are rebooting all the time now; why can't I?. From now on, each day's post will have a theme. Below are the themes and what I have on tap for this week:

MONDAY MOVIES, which I'll begin in earnest next week, due to my very procedural intro tonight.

Tomorrow will bring you TUESDAY TOMES, in which I'll look at the last Queen & Country novel, Private Wars, by Greg Rucka.

And because I just can't get enough Queen & Country, I'll use my WEDNESDAY COMICS installment to look at a single page from Rucka's first arc. I'll then argue why I think that page is one of the best examples of comic storytelling I've seen in the past several years.

THURSDAY TELEVISION will be a 2-for-1 deal, in that I'll throw in some Monday Movies action along with the TV, by talking about a strange confluence of events that led my friends and me to watch a charmingly inept and bizarre disco movie and follow that up with what turned out to be an amazing (and even more bizarre) episode of Night Court. Those of you who lived it are, of course, excused from reading this post.

FRIDAY NIGHT HEISTS will explore some of the movies that I watched in my 101-day heist marathon, along with some other flicks that I've found post-'thon. I'll start off with the 1968 Gordon Flemyng rarity, The Split.

SATURDAY SWIGS is born of a suggestion my fellow whiskey club co-founder made to me. I'm going to start reviewing whiskeys. However, while I'll post here this week, I'll very shortly pop the cork on a blog specifically for whiskey reviews. Get ready to move "From the Sweet to the Peat" in the not-too-distant, in which I shall style myself the poor man's Jim Murray.

And that brings us to OLD MAN SUNDAYS, in which I'll talk about whatever the hell I want to, goddammit.

As always, I hope to have enough smart, entertaining type that I can hand you.

Oh, and um, Maureen? You didn't mention the Gilbert Gottfried voiceover for Shoedini, which puts it over the top. I have to admit, though, I'm wondering if a Bootdini is in the works, if for no other reason than that I can hopefully do the voiceover. And, while I'm at it, thanks for the list.

Read: The Nightly News, by Jonathan Hickman

Watch: The Small Back Room (dir. Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1949)

Listen to: I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart, by Butch Walker and the Black Widows

Jim Thompson on Life

The following passages are from Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside Me. I'm posting these because, even bereft of context, I think these passages have a lot to say. They were a good slap in the face (more like a right cross, actually) when I read them, which is I suppose something at which Thompson excels.

Something else at which he excels? Complex emotions, plainly expressed. And that skill always earns my respect.

On Discretion:

"I guess we're a pretty stiff-necked lot out here, Howard," I said. "I suppose it comes from the fact that this country was never very thickly settled, and a man had to be doggoned careful of the way he acted or he'd be marked for life. I mean, there wasn't any crowd for him to sink into--he was always out where people could see him."

"So?"

"So if a man or woman does something, nothing bad you understand, but the kind of thing men and women have always been doing, you don't let on that you know anything about it. You don't, because sooner or later you're going to need the same kind of favor yourself. You see how it is? It's the only way we can go on being human, and still hold our heads up."

On Careers:

He wasn't exactly right about that, but I knew what he meant. There was other work I'd have liked a lot better. "I don't know, Bob," I said, "there's a couple of kinds of laziness. The don't-want-to-do-nothin' and the stick-in-the-rut brand. You take a job, figuring you'll just keep it a little while, and that while keeps stretchin' on and on and on. You need a little more money before you can make a jump. You can't quite make up your mind about what you want to jump to. And then maybe you make a stab at it, you send off a few letters, and the people want to know what experience you've had--what you've been doin'. And probably they don't even want to bother with you, and if they do you've got to start right at the bottom, because you don't know anything. So you stay where you are, you just about got to, and you work pretty hard because you know it. You ain't young anymore and it's all you've got."

On Storytelling:

But I guess there's another thing or two to tell you first, and--but I will tell you about it. I want to tell you, and I will, exactly how it happened. I won't leave you to figure things out for yourself.

In lots of books I read, the writer seems to go haywire every time he reaches a high point. He'll start leaving out punctuation and running his words together and babble about stars flashing and sinking into a deep dreamless sea. And you can't figure out whether the hero's laying his girl or a cornerstone. I guess that kind of crap is supposed to be pretty deep stuff--a lot of the book reviewers eat it up, I notice. But the way I see it is, the writer is just too goddam lazy to do his job. And I'm not lazy, whatever else I am. I'll tell you everything.

But I want to get everything in the right order.

I want you to understand how it was.

These are pretty innocent passages on the surface. Read the book, and you'll get a much more twisted experience--something I highly recommend.

Good day, all.

A Not So Brief Intermission

This is a very personal, scattershot entry. If you're not prepared for this sort of thing from me, then leave. I will not be offended in the slightest (it's not like I'll know).

We all have those places where we find relaxation, solace and strength. They may be ours alone, although more often than not, we share them with others. Here's mine:

I know. Doesn't look like much, does it?

Nevertheless, I used to get so much rest, so much peace on this nondescript bench, which you'll still find on the 2nd floor of the Blocker Building at Texas A&M University. What peace I found owed partially to it usually being a stop on my way to one of this gentleman's classes.

This is Dr. Douglas Brooks. He was my mentor. He died last January. Somehow, I only found out 2 weeks ago.

I do not wish to pour my memories out for you all to read here; indeed, my stories of him are better heard than read. But I can't let his death go without some acknowledgment.

In the classroom, I loved the fact that he was always intellectually rebellious without being egotistical, a singularly uncommon trait in a professor. He gave me radical, yet intuitive ways to think not only about Shakespeare but indeed all of literature. For me to express those ideas here would be a disservice to the energetic elegance with which he imprinted them not only on me, but onto all of his students. He also angered more than a few people with his ideas, which drew--from me at least--nothing but admiration.

Out of the classroom, he completely changed my taste in a lot of areas, particularly film and music. We'd talk a lot about film, and as many ideas as he sparked in me, he presented so much more encouragement. Once upon a time, I gave some lectures to intro film classes at A&M, and he was always in the back row of the lecture hall. He didn't have to sit in; he just came to watch me, like a parent supporting his kid in the big game.

High expectations, bankrupt of pressure. I don't know if I've known that feeling from anyone since.

He also gave me Stanley Kubrick, David Cronenberg, and Hal Hartley. He gave me a copy of Trust many years ago, a gift which had many repercussions quite impossible for me to articulate here. That movie was one of many films, books, and albums he just gave me out of nowhere, merely because he thought I'd like them. I'm proud he bestowed that sense of random generosity upon me.

Douglas also entrusted me with his own work. While I was in College Station and even after I left, he allowed me to help him with his research and planning his courses. I loved every minute of it. He managed to make everything seem simultaneously important but lighthearted. Emphasizing the lighthearted was his specialty, and truth be told, I wouldn't be half the man I am today without him. Even with everything else he did for me, the most important thing was teaching me not to take myself so damned seriously.

I loved Douglas dearly. I'll miss him forever. I'll never forget him.

And as the man says, I'm tired of the people we need leaving us before their time.

We now resume regular programming. Thanks for listening, and good night.

Read: The Winter's Tale, by William Shakespeare

Watch: Trust (dir. Hal Hartley, 1991)

Listen to: Exposed, by Mike Oldfield

...and anything by The Residents.

P.S. If you are one of Douglas's former students and have somehow come across this blog, please feel free to add whatever comments about him you like.