Rosemary Harris is part of a new breed of mystery writers who are breaking through the arbitrary barrier that once divided the crime fiction genre — with the tough and grisly “hard-boiled” novels on one side of the fence and the lighter and warmer “cozies” on the other side.
Harris’s new book “The Big Dirt Nap” (Minotaur Books) is the follow-up to last year’s “Pushing Up Daisies” which introduced amateur sleuth Paula Holliday, a Manhattan media pro who decides to give up her life in the city to start a gardening business in Southwestern Connecticut.
Paula is franker and funnier than the traditional cozy mystery heroine. Paula makes it clear that she enjoys sex — even if she hasn’t had much lately — and her speculations about other people’s sexual activities spark some good bawdy asides as she goes about her business.
Like some of the other new writers in the genre, Harris is willing to risk turning off older and more conservative cozy readers with her sophisticated approach to character and comedy. “The Big Dirt Nap” is still what you would call good light entertainment, but you never get the feeling — so prevalent in cozies — that the author is writing down to a presumed mature and rather square readership.
The new book takes Paula to the Eastern reaches of Connecticut where she becomes embroiled in a murder at a hotel near the two Indian casinos. Paula is there at the invitation of her Manhattan TV journalist pal Lucy who is being comped on a press junket.
The Titans Hotel is a slightly seedy joint that depends on the cheapskate gamblers who don’t want to fork over bigger bucks to stay at one of the casinos. Shortly after she arrives, Paula meets Nick Vigoriti who hits on her in the bar and then helps her use a tricky key card to get into her room.
Paula is drawn to the guy — in an on-the-road, one-night-stand sort of way — but decides she’s on “an all girls weekend” and gives Nick the brush off.
Nick soon turns up dead in the Dumpster behind the Titans and Paula is — briefly — a suspect since she was one of the last people seen with him.
The story expands as Paula becomes worried by her no-show friend’s cryptic text messages.
Harris uses the locale for an acerbic look at Indian gaming and life in the towns surrounding the casinos. The suspense builds as Paula starts to wonder if something terrible has happened to Lucy and if it might be connected to the murder at the hotel.
The plotting is as strong as the humor and the characterization so you will probably polish off this highly entertaining novel in a few sittings.
Joe's View
A smart, funny sleuth
Comic books & porn & Richard Nixon
There are so many “points of entry” into writing about last weekend’s number-one movie “Watchmen” that pundits and bloggers could spend the next year trying to get a handle on this very strange film derived from the 1987 trade paperback that helped launch the graphic novel genre.
The book was a collection of DC comics published a year earlier — a collaboration of the writer Alan Moore, the artist Dave Gibbons and the colorist John Higgins.
In the two decades since the successful publication of “Watchmen” in paperback, graphic artists and writers have bypassed comic book serialization and gone directly into book form (the genre now fills many shelves in any chain bookstore).
The movie version’s presentation of costumed superheroes, male and female nudity, bizarre sex scenes and extremely graphic violence plays like a merging of several favorite past-times of the average adolescent male — comic books, porn, kung fu flicks, Mixed Martial Arts — with an added dollop of confused political satire.
Slavishly faithful to the original book, the film takes place in the mid-1980s, when fears of U.S.-Soviet nuclear armageddon reached their biggest peak since the Cuban Missile crisis 20 years earlier.
For reasons that are unclear, the creators of the graphic novel didn’t go after then-sitting president Ronald Reagan and all of his “Star Wars” madness. Instead, they came up with an oddball plot device — Richard Nixon still being in office after removing term limitations on the presidency in 1976.
“Tricky Dick” was a much easier target for ridicule 25 years ago than the much-beloved Reagan, but the device dilutes the impact of “Watchmen” as satire and political commentary.
The movie serves up weird mixed-signal nostalgia as we look back to a mid-1980s “present” that never existed.
The S&M elements and homoeroticism that are deeply buried in traditional comic books — all those tight and rather kinky-looking costumes, the relationship between Batman and Robin — come to the surface in “Watchmen.” Just as heterosexual porn designed for (presumably straight) men has always featured a rather odd fixation on male genitalia, this comic book film includes a giant character named Doctor Manhattan who struts through the film frontally naked (a major reason the picture is rated R). The “doctor” does have the decency to wear a thong when the U.S. government presses him into service to use his super powers to win the Vietnam War (!)
“Watchmen” is so over-the-top and continuously peculiar and packed with so many lurid interludes that it held my attention for the ridiculously padded running time of 157 minutes, but I left the theater with one big question about the movie — What the hell is it?
Finding a perfect moment
The new musical at Lincoln Center — “Happiness” — won’t open officially until March 30, but I caught a preview performance on Saturday and am happy to report that the latest Susan Stroman show is in great shape.
Stroman is the celebrated director-choreographer of a string of Broadway hits ranging from “Crazy for You” to “The Producers” to “Contact.”
“Happiness” reunites Stroman with her “Contact” book writer John Weidman and the song score is by the “Grey Gardens” team of Scott Frankel (music) and Michael Korie (lyrics).
It’s a charming and moving and very intimate show about what might await us after death.
A group of type-A contemporary New Yorkers is introduced in the lively opening number “Just Not Right Now.”
Arlene (Joanna Gleason) is a shrill right wing radio talkshow host.
Maurice (Ken Page) is a famous gay interior designer.
Most of the people, however, are anonymous Manhattanites.
The widely varied group finds itself stuck in a stalled subway car where an MTA worker (Hunter Foster, above, in rehearsal) gets the first big laugh in the show delivering one of those completely unintelligible subway PA system announcements.
It only takes a few more minutes for the group to realize they are in some weird limbo between death and the hereafter. The MTA man tells them they each must recall a “perfect moment” in their lives and that remembrance will serve as their entrance into Heaven.
The premise will no doubt be viewed as too New Age-y by some critics, but it is set up quickly and believably and then serves as the introduction to a series of wonderful numbers in which each cast member goes back to a special time and place and we get to share it with them.
The bliss moments start on a high note when an incoherent elderly woman (Phyllis Somerville) takes us back to her World War II era heyday when she danced at the USO with a handsome soldier on leave.
“Happiness” creates considerable suspense and dramatic momentum as we experience each subway rider’s nostalgic exit scene. These sequences also give Stroman a chance to stage some fantastic dance numbers in the tight confines of the small downstairs theater at Lincoln Center (the Mitzi E. Newhouse).
The cast is superb, the songs are varied and tuneful, and the two-hour intermissionless musical was greeted with a tremendous ovation at the end.
The sixth Maisie Dobbs
Jacqueline Winspear’s distinctive crime fiction series about nurse-turned-investigatve-psychologist Maisie Dobbs continues with “Among the Mad” (Henry Holt) which is perhaps the best of the six novels.
We are in a strong period for historical mysteries with the ongoing Charles Todd novels (about an emotionally shattered World War I veteran) and Lawrence Goldstone’s terrific late 19th century Philadelphia mystery “The Anatomy of Deception” which debuted to great reviews in early 2008 (and has just been reissued in paperback).
Winspear has been gaining ground with each new novel about Maisie Dobbs, a British nurse on the frontlines of World War I who returns to London where she is able to apply her acute understanding of human psychology (and personal exposure to combat) to cases that involve the lingering effects of the “great war” on British society.
“Among the Mad” takes us up to the Christmas season of 1931 when Maisie faces her most challenging — and most potentially dangerous — case.
After she witnesses the suicide of a maimed veteran on the streets of London — Maisie sees the man pull the pin on a hand grenade but is not close enough to the explosion to be harmed — the woman is drawn into a sinister terrorist blackmail plot.
The authorities begin receiving threats that unless veterans are treated better — in terms of pensions and other benfits — there will be a chemical gas attack in London. The would-be terrorist demonstrates that he means business by killing animals with the same weapon that was used in the trenches during the war.
Winspear does a wonderful job of combining historical detail with steadily increasing suspense as we wonder if Maisie will track down the veteran/terrorist before it’s too late.
There are subtle echoes of today in the financial stresses faced by Londoners in the early years of the Great Depression. A powerful subplot focuses on Maisie’s assistant, Billy, a veteran whose wife can’t cope with the death of their daughter and the horrific treatments that were prescribed for the mentally ill 70 years ago.
“Among the Mad” may be lacking in humor — as New York Times critic Marilyn Stasio oddly notes in an otherwise positive review that will appear in this Sunday’s Book Review section — but I love the way Winspear mixes strong human drama and history with the sort of “traditional” mystery that Agatha Christie used to write.
Late to the Gordon Ramsay party
British super-chef Gordon Ramsay has been as succcessful on TV as he’s been in restaurants around the world.
Ramsay has 12 Michelin stars to his name for popular restaurants on both sides of the Atlantic, but he has become a multi-media celebrity from a series of TV ventures that includes the current Fox series, “Hell’s Kitchen.”
I’ve never seen any of the U.S. Ramsay reality shows, but I had a great time earlier this week watching the new Acorn Media release of the first season of the U.K. series, “Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares,” in which the chef was called in to save four struggling restaurants.
It didn’t take long to see why Ramsay has become a TV star as well as a culinary celebrity — he’s charismatic, funny and seems to have an unfailing B.S. meter.
In my college days, I worked four summers in the kitchen of a hotel restaurant in New Jersey and I have been fascinated by the subject ever since. Almost any restaurant becomes an intersection of personal drama, history, nostalgia, and psychology on both sides of the equation — the customers who eat there and the people who prepare and serve the food.
It is hard to imagine a better video primer on running a restaurant than the eight episodes of “Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightamres” that show us how he salvages dining establishments in West Yorkshire, the Lake District, Surrey and Wales.
Ramsay was given a week to work his magic and in all four cases we get to see how significant improvements were made.
The producers of the 2004 season did a great job of picking a wide variety of eateries from a disastrously managed wine bar with delusions of grandeur (Bonaparte’s in Silsden, West Yorkshire) to a once posh Michelin-honored establishment that has slipped under new management (The Walnut Tree in Abergavenny, Wales).
Ramsay’s tough love approach extends from lowly waiters to misguided owners but his F-bomb-laden hectoring is never personal — it’s always about improving the food and the ambiance. He reminds me of a very tough but sharp kitchen boss who whipped me into shape during my first week in restaurant work.
Half of the episopes are devoted to follow-up visits from Ramsay a year after his first visit to the restaurants.
“Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares” should be required viewing for those poor souls who have always fantasized about opening a restaurant.
Clive Owen — with and without Julia
I’m not a gambling man but I would wager that the March 20 release, “Duplicity,” is going to be the first big hit of spring.
The trailer featuring the very potent star pairing of Julia Roberts and Clive Owen has been been greeted with sighs of anticipation during my most recent visits to multiplexes in Connecticut and Manhattan.
And more than a few friends have told me they are looking forward to this romantic thriller by writer-director Tony Gilroy, whose last film was the extremely entertaining 2007 hit “Michael Clayton.”
Roberts hasn’t headlined a film for a few years now and she and Owen have already displayed considerable screen chemistry in “Closer,” the 2004 Mike Nichols picture. It’s nice to see a slick piece of escapsim come along featuring two mature stars who are in the same ballpark, age-wise.
Movie chemistry and what folks in the business call “want-to-see” are such mysterious things.
Owen opened in a very fine thriller, “The International,” just a few weeks ago that quickly became a notable late winter flop. The Brit actor was paired with the Australian actress Naomi Watts — they play professional partners on the trail of a huge international banking conspiracy — and I was one of about a half-dozen people in the theater the night I saw the picture. You might think that a slick suspense film about an evil global banking concern would be perfectly in sync with the 2009 zeitgeist, but perhaps audiences were turned off by the idea of a financial services thriller at a time when many people wonder if they will be employed next week.
Everyone I know seems to like Owen a lot, but despite his strong presence and prodigious talent, he has never displayed much ticket-selling ability on his own. He has starred in some of my favorite films of the last 20 years — “Children of Men” (2006) and “Close My Eyes” (1991) among them — but he has yet to score a solo box-office hit.
A Jack Reacher with heart
The new Andrew Gross novel, “Don’t Look Twice” (William Morrow), starts with a crime that seems mundane by the standards of contemporary thrillers.
Our hero from the last Gross book — Greenwich cop (and single dad) Ty Hauck — is in the middle of taking his teen daughter on a final autumn sail on Long Island Sound when they stop at an Exxon station for fuel and some snacks.
Suddenly, a red truck pulls up in front of the gas station and bullets come tearing into the store.
Hauck and his daughter survive, but the man next to them in line at the register is killed.
At first, it appears that the target of the drive-by is the shop owner whose son was involved in an incident where a girl drowned in a swimming pool. A failed attempt at a revenge killing. The fact that the dead man is a federal prosecutor seems to be simply a case of bad luck for the victim.
Yes, a drive-by killing in Greenwich is highly unusual, but as I read the first few chapters of “Don’t Look Twice” I couldn’t help but think that Gross was aiming low in this follow-up to last year’s terrific “The Dark Tide,” which began with an apparent terrorist bombing of a Metro North train heading into Grand Central Terminal.
It only took a few more brief chapters to see, however, that the Exxon shooting was simply the tip of a huge ice-berg of conspiracy and murder involving some of the richest and most powerful people in the country.
“Don’t Look Twice” keeps expanding and the vice-like hold on the reader keeps tightening as Hauck finds himself going up against the gambling industry, defense contractors and corrupt politicians.
Gross keeps the suspense building as Hauck’s chances for survival seem to be running out.
Hauck is a wonderful hero whose penchant for finding himself in dangerous scrapes puts him right up there with the Lee Child hero Jack Reacher in terms of action and suspense. Ty is a much more human figure than Jack, however, with the personal attachments that Reacher eschews as he wanders the country in lone wolf mode.
The Reacher novels are marvels of streamlined thrills, but there is more at stake — in purely human terms — in Andrew Gross’s wonderful new series.
(William Morrow is making the first few chapters of “Don’t Look Twice” available online: http://browseinside.harpercollins.com/index.aspx?isbn13=9780061143441)
Right back where he started from
It was thrilling — and moving — to see Placido Domingo’s performance as Maurizio in “Adriana Lecouvreur” at the Metropolitan Opera Wednesday night.
The role is the same one that served as Domingo’s Met debut in 1968. I wouldn’t know if his singing was better 41 years ago, but he couldn’t have had more stage presence or been more convincing as a man with two powerful women madly in love with him.
The production will have its last performance of the season tomorrow night. The sumptuousness of the staging by Connecticut director Mark Lamos matches the lush beauty of the score by Francesco Cilea.
Domingo has been a culture hero of mine for many years — for being a hard worker as well as a brilliant artist — and friends who know more about opera than me say he has managed to sing at a high level for more years than seems possible.
Here’s what Anthony Tommasini of The New York Times had to say on Feb. 8:
“Now 68, he remains a wonder of vocal longevity. He missed the dress rehearsal because of a cold and took time to clear his throat and warm up during the performance on Friday. But soon he was singing with vigor, stylistic insight and ringing top notes. Some of the music was transposed down to suit Mr. Domingo’s current comfort zone. ‘That’s cheating,’ purists might complain. But the trade-off is a Maurizio sung by a major tenor who still sounds like one.”
The plot of “Adriana Lecouvreur” is a jumble of political intrigue and marital infidelity but Lamos keeps the production steaming forward on the power of the love triangle and the wonderful portrayal of life in the French theater of the 18th century.
The character of Adriana is drawn from Adrienne Lecouvreur, a real stage star of the early 18th century who was famous for her off-stage romances as well as her performances in plays such as “Phedre.” Adrienne died under mysterious circumstances which in the opera are transformed into a rival poisoning her. Maria Guleghina (above, with Domingo) is a knock-out in the title role and Olga Borodina makes for a formidable love rival, the Princess de Bouillon.
It was Domingo’s night, however, and despite a rather weird vibe in the house (an audience stressed out by financial worries?), the singer-actor’s performance was greeted with the tremendous ovation it deserved.
(A Friday afternoon check of the Met Web site — www.metoperafamily.org — showed some seats still available for Saturday night’s performance of “Adriana Lecouvreur.”)
