Books Read

I finally finished a book or two that had been hanging over me.

Before Christmas I finished the 'Pocket Essentials: Steven Soderbergh' by Jason Wood. Like most books in this series, the director comes out as a saint, the author/apostle finding nuggets of gold and pearls of wisdom in even his most obscure works (although I do agree on the positive appraisal of 'Schizopolis'). I have a lot of respect for Soderbergh, who has a lot of intelligence and something to say, but I would never rank him in the top tier (though who I would place there I'm not too sure these days). The book stopped at 'Ocean's Eleven', so we were spared Wood's excuses for 'Ocean's Twelve' or the needless remake of 'Solaris'. Nevertheless it was a pleasant trip through his back catalogue.

Last week I finally finished Russell's 'Problems of Philosophy'. You cannot expect me to refrain from anger when he resorts to Platonic Universals to back up his case (something Schopenhauer's 'The World as Will and Idea' annoyed me by doing too), but I perservered and in the end there were some insights to be gleaned. Still not convinced by Russell's argument though.

I also finished, 'The Power of Darkness', a collection of horror tales by Edith Nesbit. Despite my admiration for some of her work, even I have to admit that there is too much sentimentality too often throughout the collection. I suspect Nesbit, earning her living from her writing, had to appeal to magazines (and their audiences) that gave her little room for innovation. A very modern style is almost always apparent, and in her masterpieces, the much anthologised 'Man-size in Marble' and 'John Charrington's Wedding', and the lesser seen 'The Violet Car', 'The Shadow' and the caustic 'The Pavillion', she shows what she was capable of. Unfortunately she was also capable of pieces such as 'The Letter in Brown Ink' and 'The Five Senses'. On a positive note, there is something positive that can be said about each story in this collection and so ultimately it's something the horror buff ignores at his peril.

A Homer?

With the exception of Chandler, I've been finding it hard to get excited about books of late and have had the same five on the go for quite a while now. Chandler's Collected Short Fiction, Russell's Problems of Philosophy, The Essential Steven Soderbergh, Millhauser's 'The Barnum Museum', Nesbith's Ghost Stories, etc.. I just couldn't get enthusiastic. Happily, after a visit to Play.com, I bought Malamud's 'The Natural' during the week and was saving up until today to start reading it. I'm a little ashamed to say I love the movie, sentimental though it is (and I hate the closing shot), and I have a tremendous amount of respect for Bernard Malamud (though that's based on only a few short stories). I know he can write and have always wanted to read the book. So while going into town on the bus, I resisted starting it. In the coffee shop, I still resisted until a comfy seat became available. I wanted to savour it. Certainly after the opening, meeting Roy Hobbs again and the murderous Harriet Bird getting on that train, I was a happy reader.

I went along to a Mexican horror movie then, 'Km 31', but continued afterwards. I am around 50 pages off the ending now and must confess that it is a different book to what I expected. Barry Levinson, director of the movie, took a very definite slant on things not entirely borne out by the book. Levinson was consciously constructing a myth, retelling King Arthur for the US, and although some of this is in the book - well, a lot of it - Malamud's concerns are, dare I say, a little more mundane. In many ways this is more about homer with a small 'h', than Homer. The iconic use of the lightning strike is not in evidence, and if anything superstition and magic are downplayed. This results in a less mythic, but more intelligent work. I am still undecided what I think overall, but if ever a book highlighted the differences between film and literature, this is that book.

Ocean's Thirteen

In a summer of threequels, Soderbergh regroups the team behind 'Ocean's Eleven', and 'Twelve' for another outing that could either follow the verve and entertainment of the first movie, or the selfindulgent folly of the second. In the event 'Ocean's Thirteen' falls somewhere in the middle.

In this outing for Danny Ocean's motley crew, Reuben (Eliot Gould), his mentor and friend, is double-crossed and left for dead by William Banks (Al Pacino), casino owner and all-out bad guy. Having tried the softly-softly method (and failed), the gang decide to exact revenge in the best way they know how, ruin Pacino's new casino (and steal some diamonds).

The movie is what it is. In such a free-wheeling piece of popcorn, there are few if any deep messages or grand insights. Even the Robin Hood aspect to the gang's plan (fix the games so that the customers win and get away with their winnings) is dampened by the fact that most of the casino's (pre-)opening night players are extremely wealthy to being with. A lighthearted subplot regarding Mexican workers in a dice factory does try to smuggle in some dark truths about America's poor neighbour (especially given the opulence on display everywhere else), but to belabour this would be a mistake. The movie strives to entertain with a clever, if unlikely, hodgepodge of a plot involving crooked gambling, a diamond robbery, doublecrossing and hotel reviewers. Any tension there might have been is diluted by the lack of any real teeth in Pacino's property shark and you sometimes long for Joe Pesci's character to stumble in from 'Casino' and break a few legs.

Clooney and Pitt are curiously subdued throughout. Perhaps this is generosity on their part to their fellow cast members or maybe they're just tired of doing the same schtick again. Whatever the reason, there is even more of an emphasis on ensemble playing here than in the film's predecessors. As a result it almost plays like an Altman piece with constant cutting between each strand of the complicated plot. With Altman though the ensemble would play as an ensemble; Soderbergh's strategy is to give each character their place in the sun for a few moments. Whether these little performances actually work is debatable. Cheadle's faux daredevil is irritating, but mercifully brief, while Caan and Affleck's double act is deadpan enough not to grate. Matt Damon is not so lucky and, engaging though he is, he's saddled with a one note character that hasn't much to do (and yes, the nose was a bad idea). As the villain of the piece, Pacino chews scenery like a rampant goat, and Barkin, his sveldt sidekick, in the first movie I've seen her in for a long while, matches him bite for bite. Depending on your mood these grandstand theatrics may entertain you. The mood is so light that the chances are they will.

So is 'Thirteen' unlucky for Soderbergh and company? The movie is glitzy and entertaining, but also very shallow, and slick though it is, the charm of the first film is sadly lacking. Nevertheless, like Vegas itself, as long as you don't stay in the place too long, you should have a good time, and 'Ocean's Thirteen' doesn't outstay its welcome.