Friday's Forgotten Books: Bird Dog by Philip Reed (1997)

While reading the new graphic novel Filthy Rich by Brian Azzarello and artist Victor Santos, a story in which the protagonist works for a car dealership, I was reminded of Bird Dog, the first “Car Noir Thriller” by Philip Reed featuring Harold Dodge. Reed would only write two Dodge novels (the other being Low Rider) before…well, I dunno what the fuck happened to him. Whatever the reasons may be, it’s a fucking shame he’s no longer cranking out kick ass crime novels anymore because I think the motherfucker could no shit hold his own with some of the nasty boys and girls of noir today.

Bird Dog starts out with middle-aged nobody Harold Dodge being asked by a sexy co-worker to help her get her trade-in back from the shithole LA dealership that sold her a true lemon. You see, it’s known around the office that in a past life Dodge used to “bird dog” for a dealership, hell he even wrote a book on how not to get robbed, got published and everything. Seeing how a good-looking young thing like Marianna wouldn’t give a guy like Harold a second glance in a normal situation, Harold comes to her rescue toot-fucking-sweet. But sure enough, things don’t go well with slimy salesman Vito Fiorre at Joe Covo Matsura and next thing you know Dodge ends up with a body in the trunk…

Though you initially think you’re entering into some sort of off-beat private eye series, Bird Dog turns out to be more of an Elmore Leonard-style crime novel, only with more graphic sex and violence (which, come to think of it, is what most of the best crime novels of the nineties were like. There’s a paper there somewhere...). In other words, you have your sharp prose, your dead-on dialogue, cool good guys, funny bad guys, and a zippy pace. Good time had by fucking all, right?

That’d certainly be enough to get my vote, but Bird Dog takes shit in slightly sicker, more noir-than-merely-hard-boiled direction later in the book. Naturally, I don’t want to spoil shit for you, but to put it in movie terms, this shit gets more Blood Simple than Get Shorty, if you know what I mean. If you don’t know what I mean, see more films, you fucking elitist.

If I don’t have your interest yet, I honestly don’t know what the fuck to say to you, aside from hit the supermarket and snatch up a Grisham when buying your fucking white bread. But if you need just a little bit more of a push, let me say that there’s plenty of great car salesman lore and car porn in this beast too, not to mention a fantastic sense of place for its LA locations.

There you go, there’s your fucking icing on the awesome cake. So go and get yourself some Bird Dog, then some Low Rider, then join me in mourning the death of the Harold Dodge Car Noir Thriller series.

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn

My review of Dark Places by Gillian Flynn is up at bookspot.

If you would care to read that shit, click right here.

If you're not up for it, what can I tell you? It's a big interweb out there and you'll probably find something cool elsewhere. But fuck you all the same.

Tower by Ken Bruen and Reed Farrel Coleman

My review of Tower is up at bookspot.

Ken Bruen and Reed Farrel Coleman tag team like they're the fucking Nasty Boys to give you this kick ass book.

Check that shit out right fucking here.

Dark Entries by Ian Rankin and Werther Dell'Edera

My review of the latest from the Vertigo Crime imprint, Dark Entries.

It's written by Ian Rankin of the Rebus novels fame and drawn by Werther Dell'Edera.

So, you know, it's one of them graphic novel things.

This is a fucking long one so don't say I didn't warn your ass.


Check it out right here.

Filthy Rich by Brian Azzarello and Victor Santos

My review of Filthy Rich is up at bookspot.

Dude that wrote Filthy Rich is the same feller behind 100 Bullets.

It's also the first of two books from Vertigo Crime.

As awesome as that info just provided is, the results were less than boner-inspiring.

Check it out right here.

Pariah by Dave Zeltserman

My review of Dave Zeltserman's Pariah is up and blowing some fucking minds over at bookspot.

Check that shit out right HERE.

If you're short on time, let me save you a click and a peek:

This shit fucking rules.

Catching Up #42: Off Season by Jack Ketchum

Okay so this post ain't exactly noir, but it sure a shit is for the fucking basement crazies. If you're a fan of the more macabre and intense shit (like the great Allan Guthrie's novels) the Nerd raves about, you're gonna love horror writer Jack Ketchum. The guy is hands-down one of the gutsiest motherfuckers working in genre fiction today. Two of his novels (Right to Life and The Girl Next Door) I had to read in single sittings for fear that I wouldn't have the sack to pick them back up again. And make no mistake: the Nerd is not just being characteristically hyperbolic here - the guy's shit is seriously that fucking inense.

Also let the Nerd make clear: this ain't no Halloween-is-coming post either. Just like I don't need a holiday to drink a bunch of booze, I don't need a holiday to make me like horror either. Both are great any time of year.

Off Season, Ketchum's first novel (now available uncut and uncensored!) from 1980, proves that Ketchum has had those globe-sized balls since the beginning of his career. If you like your thrills with a gigantic fucking safety net, then you best leave this one to the fucking professionals.

Off Season tells the story of three NYC couples who go to a remote cabin in coastal Maine for a week of sex and drinking, only be preyed upon by a feral family of cannibals that live in a cave.

Seriously - that's all there is to it. Sounds like the plot of a forgettable horror film that you pop in late and pass out before it ends, never bothering the next morning to see what you missed. But Ketchum makes that shit come alive, dear reader, alive in ways you probably didn't want to ever think about.

Essentially, this is the ultimate Deliverance-style story. You take a bunch of realistic, recognizable characters with common insecurities and problems then throw them into the most extreme situation imaginable and watch all that petty shit melt away till nothing is left but the will to survive. In addition to the struggle of the couples, Ketchum also sheds some light on the lives of the in-bred cannibals, even dropping almost plausible hints as to how such a clan has managed to stay hidden and fed for so long.

Like most of Ketchum's work, there's no supernatural shit going on in Off Season if that kinda stuff bothers you. Basically, this is a disgusting, agonizing story story told breathlessly and without compromise. After all the players are laid out for us, the attack goes down and the second half of the book takes place over just a few hours and good fucking God is it hard to put this beast down once you're in the shit. For a book with a shit-ton of action and suspense, you're never less than completely clear about what's going on and how while also never skipping ahead because you're bogged down in details. You ever notice how in a suspense sequence, authors will always over-explain shit to the point where it takes a lot of will-power to not just skip ahead to see what the outcome of the scene is? That shit never happens with Ketchum, dude is always on-the-money.

And according to an afterword by Ketchum in the edition I read (Leisure Books June 2006 edition), the original version of Off Season did not have the perfect, devastatingly bleak ending that the current version does. So if you read this book years ago, I strongly suggest you pick it up again. You gotta admire a book that, in addition to being about...you know...in-bred cannibals raping, cooking and eating people, manages to have an even more dire climax than you could have ever imagined.

Like I said, dude goes all the fucking way. If you think you've got the stomach for it, the Nerd strongly suggests you follow his ass.

Panic Attack by Jason Starr

I reviewed Panic Attack by Jason Starr over at Bookspot.

Give that shit a look.

In said review I fully admit to being in the wrong.

Intrigued? No? Give it a shot anyway. Don't cost nothin'.

The Silent Hour by Michael Koryta

My review of Michael Koryta's The Silent Hour is up over at bookspot.

You should check out Koryta's shit, dear reader.

He's not much of a curser and he never goes "full dark" as they say, but he kicks Connelly's ass, far as the Nerd is concerned.

Check it out right HERE.

Catching Up #41: Real Time by Randall Cole

Holy shit, dear readers. You should just click over to your netflix account right now and slap fucking Real Time onto the top of your queue (you didn't really wanna watch that documentary on climate change, no matter how good the cheese kid at Whole Foods said it was). Seriously, fuck my review, just do it, done and done.

Okay, so that was rash. Read and cherish every fucking word of my review, then shoot it to the top of your queue.

Why should you do all this shit sight un-fucking-seen, you ask? Well, because I have fucking impeccable taste and you know this to be the scout's-honor-fucking-true. But for the unfaithful: go fuck yourselves. Nah, don't do that - pay someone else to do it for you.

Let's try that again: For the unfaithful, let's sleepwalk through this fucking plot summary dance yet again:

Real Time is a Canadian feature directed by Randall Cole starring Jay Baruchel (Seth Rogen's fellow Canadian roommate in Knocked Up) as a degenerate gambler and Randy Quaid (ummm...if you don't know who Randy Quaid is, see more movies) as the hitman who has come to make him pay. Instead of just shooting Baruchel and calling it a day (the deadbeat owes 68,000 and has sixty bucks to his fucking name), Quaid gives him an hour to make amends, do whatever he wants before he takes one in the back of the head. And it's in, you know, real time (which makes it a short fucking movie, remember when they used to make those?).

Now, I know what you're thinking, you're all like thanks but no thanks, Nerd. I don't fall for high-concept bullshit movies. Well, skeptical reader, you're only cheating yourself because Real Time is hilarious, engrossing and heartbreaking.

And when I say it's hilarious, I fucking mean that shit. It's basically these two dudes running around some Canadian shithole (in other words the shitholiest of shitholes) spouting some of the best dialogue I've heard since In Bruges. Good God, go me! That was a very apt comparison on my part (*pats self on back*). Real Time is very much in line with Bruges, another hilarious off-beat crime film that is both absurd and profound.

I really don't wanna get too much into the specifics of this one because I don't feel like many have seen it and it would be hindered by knowing much more beyond the concept, but come on. I went out there with an In Bruges comparison, a movie I love almost as much as prime rib.

So check out Real Time, a true fucking sleeper that deserves your rheumy eyes and cauliflowered ears for its short, blissful fucking running time.

A Bad Day for Sorry by Sophie Littlefield

My review of A Bad Day for Sorry is up at bookspot.

Check that shit out right HERE.

I fully confess my love of the first Stephanie Plum novel in this review.

Yeah, I just said that.

Catching Up #40: JULIA by Erick Zonca

As evidenced in the 2008 film Julia, Tilda Swinton has some of the biggest balls in Hollywoodland. Her performance as the titular (nice) character in this bug-fuck sleeper is one of the most fearless I've seen in years. The movie itself ain't too bad neither.

Julia follows an alcoholic party girl who has lost her job and the trust of her few remaining friends. At an AA meeting she meets a crazy-eyed young woman who offers her a job: If Julia helps her kidnap her son back from his wealthy grandfather, she'll give her thousands of dollars. After the initial stakeout of where they plan to take the boy, Julia does the job on her own with the intent to get millions out of the grandfather instead. But, you know, that shit just ain't that easy...

What really makes Julia such an intense experience, is that Julia is shown to be such a fucking drunk wreck that we're constantly in fear for this little kid's life. I mean, if you can't handle child-in-jeopardy stories, this movie is definitely not for your ass. Director Erick Zonca knows how to keep you twisting in your seat throughout, every scene offering some terrible possibility to make your fucking guts turn.

He also shoots the film in a naturalistic style, the look helped out by the improvisational feel of the dialogue and performances. Julia is constantly lying, be it to authority figures, friends. accomplices, or - most often - her hostage, and Swinton truly sells the idea that she's just coming up with bullshit off the top of her head. Zonca's film is the rare crime film not concerned with great zingers and sharp dialogue so much as it is with people sounding natural.

The movie might run a little long (it's damned near two-and-a-half hours), but you're never bored because you're convinced that all bets are off, that anything - no matter how horrible - can fucking happen. So if you like you can handle a decidedly fucking un-slick crime film that has the power to make you woozy with dread, you better netflix yourself Julia toot-fucking-sweet.

Also, don't trust that lamer-than-fucking-lame poster. I fucking hate that shit. I mean, sell the movie for what it is: a crime film, not some sappy fucking...what the hell kinda movie is that poster trying to sell? Whoever was in charge of publicity for this film is a fucking assclown, as evidenced by the fact that this movie never opened anywhere near me here in the Twin Cities. Crime films are perfectly fucking marketable, you movie-biz douches!