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What Happened?
by Christian De Matteo
Wimpy
About ten years ago I read The
Black Dahlia, and I'd never read anything like it.
The book wowed me. Astounded me, floored me, made me
realize only one modern writer was the heir to
Raymond Chandler: James Ellroy.
As of that moment, I knew that one
day, my Hollywood wouldn't disappoint me: They
would make a movie out of this incredible book.
And they didn't disappoint me...
well, not with the making the movie part.
And how could it go wrong with Brian
De Palma at the helm? I don't know but it did.
And it went horribly, horribly wrong.
I almost don't know where to begin,
which is exactly the movie's problem. The film
meanders in a way that Ellroy would never have his
book to move. The book moved at a breakneck
pace, intense, grisly and unstoppable.
The movie, however, wanders like a
drunk at 4 at closing time, never remember the
address he started out looking for. Josh
Hartnett's character is never sure if he's solving a
mystery, obsessing over a dead woman, or just trying
to get laid as often as possible. |