Regarding Infinity War: I have discovered that the location of the final infinity stone, as well as the manner for obtaining the gem which will create incredible (perhaps infinite) power, is a matter of extreme importance to many. Nevertheless, it holds no interest for me. I've outgrown super hero movies; I don't intend to see this one.

I did recently get to see a movie that I enjoyed again: Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep. I have to admit that remembering this movie while I was writing Smoke helped me to establish some of the texture for the novel, including the jabs about the main character's height. The other movies and books that were helpful included The Maltese Falcon, This Gun for Hire with Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake, The Big Heat with Glenn Ford and Gloria Grahame, and My Favorite Brunette with Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour.

This scene from The Big Sleep of Marlowe and Vivian's first meeting differs significantly from the first meeting between Noah and Monica, the main characters from Smoke, but there are some similarities.

I must admit to some disappointment that sales of Smoke have not yet skyrocketed. I suppose that I have no one to blame but myself for the lack of marketing that I have done. I recently read that social media is an extremely poor marketing tool. I'm looking into other possible tools. In the meantime, I've read up to the current point of my sequel to Justice in Season so that I can finish it. I hope to have the sequel available by the end of the year. I have to confess that I really enjoyed reading the manuscript to the current point. Is it terribly shallow and narcissistic to admit that I think I'm my favorite author? Links to my books are at the top of the page.

I did get to see the first episode of Philip Marlowe: Private Eye. I clicked some screen shots. I'll put them in another post.

Fear in the Night - reframed - McCroy's Away Mission

Fear in the Night (1947), directed by Maxwell Shane, starring:

According to Wikipedia,this was Kelley's film debut.

The film concerns a bank teller, Vince Grayson, who dreams that he has killed a man in an octagonal room of mirrors --that makes the fight eight times more exciting, right? He awakes with marks on his throat, blood on his wrist, and he finds a mysterious key and a button in his pocket. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, he is troubled. He goes about trying to locate, by way of advertisement, a house with such an octagonal room. No luck.

While on an outing with his girl Betty; and his sister Lil and brother-in-law Cliff (a police detective), some memories surface, leading him to his dream home -- or nightmare mansion. He finds blood in the closet behind one of the mirrors--the same place he had stashed the body in the dream, and to which the mysterious key fits--fits the closet, not the body.

When a local law enforcement officer who's keeping an eye on the place detains them, they learn that a woman was killed at the house--her description matches his recollection of a woman in his dream. Vince becomes seriously disturbed, almost even suicidal. His brother-in-law stymies his attempt to execute a double gainer into the roof of Cliff's new car from 20 floors up.

Detective Cliff (who makes me think of a half-price Dan Duryea) puts some clues together and does some detectivey stuff; he suspects that Vince has been hypnotized into committing murder. They prove it all by having the hypnotist do his thing once again to Vince, who is narrowly saved from drowning himself at the hypnotist's suggestion, or at the lake, or both, depending on how you look at it.

After all this, Vince still has to go to court to defend himself against a murder rap. We don't get to discover the outcome; it's just  sort of, "Thanks for helping us resolve this case, and good luck with the jury on that self-defense and hypnosis Hail Mary angle you've got going; we're behind you all the way."

This film is entirely forgettable. It presses several of the obligatory film noir buttons (not to be confused with Red Buttons, who didn't like to be pushed at all): a stairway, window-blind shadows, fedoras, a good man made to do bad things... But it lacks a great film noir femme. The film hops along on one leg without this crucial element of the genre. I had hoped that the woman in the dream would prove to be the come-over-to-the-dark-side dame; we never see her again. Instead, we learn that she succumbed to a bad case of Pontiac's disease, communicated to her by a steel bumper and a set of whitewall tires.

Since this film stars not just a tree, but DeForest Kelley, it reminded me of a TOS mashup. It's "The City on the Edge of Forever" meets "A Piece of the Action" and "Return of the Archons" with a touch of "The Lights of Zetar."

I call the reframe: "Who's Lying Now" as told by Dr. Lemmy McCroy.

I had had a rough night. Captain Kork and his first officer Spirk had insisted on watching video clips of old ship's logs for some reason. I'm afraid I drowned my boredom in Cromulan ale, and bit of brandy from some backwater system where the fruit has naturally hallucinogenic properties. The last thing I remember was Scootty, who had taken the shape of an enormous red walrus, bragging about how he could transport the earrings off a Krigellian dancing girl without her even knowing it. Spirk, or a blue python hanging from a lavender tree that sounded like him, wondered why he should attempt such an endeavor. Then I passed out.

I woke up with a headache the size of Galaxy, a 1965 Ford Galaxy; my head was throbbing like the U.S.S. Interlude's impulse engines at maximum power. I looked around and knew immediately that I wasn't in my quarters. A strange familiarity pervaded the room. My first thought was that we had struck a time vortex, or a time guardian large enough to fly a star ship through...except, I didn't seem to be on the ship.

I found a strange religious symbol, and button on the table next to my bed, or maybe it was two religious symbols. I didn't know. For all I knew, they could be some powerful alien artifacts capable of warping time and space. Had these apparent trifles transported me through space and time? If so, to what?

I dressed in the clothes that I found in the room. No one stopped me. I went down to the street. I wandered into another building. I found a doll there with two names. She looked more like a Betty than a Vince to me. I decided to call her Betty. She told me about a guy who might be able to help me.

He was great at making dollhouse furniture. He wasn't so sure that he could construct a communicator, but he was willing to give it a try.

While he worked, I showed Betty how I could fold my hat to look almost like a bundle of old rags. She was real impressed, and started making eyes at me. I told her I had something in my eye.

I had her look into my eyes, and I did that trick I had learned on Ceti Alpha Bravo Delta. It made her scream and go into convulsions until she passed out; it works every time.

I felt badly about that, but it was hilarious...totally worth it. But I wrote her an apology. I also took out an ad in the local daily paper seeking information about the Interlude. If there were other members of the ship stranded on this planet, maybe I could reach them with a well-written personal ad.

I got a lot of calls on the ad, and even a couple swell dates...but I didn't find anyone from the ship.

My friend who was trying to build the communicator for me stopped by and told me to join him in his new vehicle. I thought that it was a strange craft, but I'm a doctor, not an automotive critic. I got inside to discover Betty and another gal.

The frail in the front seat told me that they had been working together on the transmitter. Unfortunately, the technology was forbidden, and monitored closely by some nefarious government agency. They had been forced to hide the tiny transmitter in Betty's back tooth, for secrecy's sake, of course. 

We stopped out in the woods. Betty and I wandered away from the road to avoid possible monitoring by the government. There I did my best to activate the device and get a message to the Interlude. Capt. Kork would've been proud of my efforts. That dame on the hollow spaceship planet had nothing on Betty.

I was still working on transmitting a rather lengthy message when the others came and told us that we had to leave. We walked to house where we hoped to be able to get a better signal.

I walked around the joint until I found a what looked like a primitive transporter room. However, I feared that any attempt to use it would send me to the mirror universe.

I was talking it over with my local contact. He was telling me that he didn't think that room was a transporter. He thought that it was a cloning machine capable of spitting out eight copies at a time. 

We didn't get very far into our discussion before some tough from the government burst in waving a rod authoritatively. Turns out that hiding the transmitter in Betty's molar had not been as covert as we had believed. He took us to a mousey little man smoking a pipe in front of a battery of filing cabinets.

"Betty," he said, "vas not so impressed vith that little trick you did ven you had her look into your eyes. She has been having nightmares. Ve had her examined veeeerry thoroughly, and ve discovered the transmitting device secreted in her molar. Also, Betty says dat you are not a very good kisser."

I wasn't sure which of his statements hurt me most. Probably that last one. I was about to explain that I was distracted by the whole attempt at sending a message, and that I had never had any complaints before. I didn't get the chance. Some kind of energy device dropped me on the spot. 

When I came to, my contact was trying to pry something from one of my teeth. We were back at the room where I had awoke earlier.

He backed away, slightly embarrassed about the situation. He claimed that he was trying to remove a tracking device that the government had placed in my tooth.

He suggested that suicide would be the only way out now. I grabbed a razor blade...but couldn't do it. I ran for the window. I figured that would be easier. 

He saw my move. "Not on my car, you don't!" he screamed, leaping to prevent my auto-defenestration attempt.

I wasn't sure whether he was trying to stop me, or strangle me before I took the drop. 

He dragged me back inside and started pounding out "Oh Susanna" on my sternum. Apparently the singing disturbed one of the neighbors.

He ordered my contact to leave. Then he explained to me that he wasn't there about the singing. He said that he had been in contact with another member of the Interlude. I needed to go with him immediately. 

He told me that the agency goons might be listening. I showed the guy my tooth. He took one look, and motioned for me to follow him.

Once we hit the street, we took off running. 

He took me to a lake. He put a tag on my suit. "It's a super-powerful flotation device," he whispered. "Step into the lake and it will float you across to your crew mate. 

"Who?" I asked. 

"An Ensign..."

Right at that moment, a car roared up to the dock. It was my prior contact with a guy who had a spotlight for a face. Spotlight man pointed the gun at the new guy and administered a lethal dosage.

My contact explained that the guy was actually one of the agency men who made people disappear. He took me to a large stone building, but he made me pay the cab fare. Betty and the other frail were waiting there.

He said, "Betty's really sorry about the remark about your poor kissing. She wasn't herself."

I looked at Betty. She smiled apologetically. "I've got this new antenna on my hat that might help...if you would like to try again," she said.

"That won't be necessary," my contact said. "Just walk through these arches. It will take you back to your own place and time...after give the girl at the counter the two religious symbols you found when you first arrived. She'll give a quarter pounder with cheese and let you play the scratch game...but don't get the fries, no matter how nicely she offers; If you do, you'll loose the desire to leave, and be stranded here forever."

Smoke in the shower

Do plentiful pounding pulses of pure pressurized water perceptively and plausibly promote the pondering process? Personally, I possess a presupposition in the positive. Perhaps that's pretty presumptuous of me. Pardonnez-moi. 

Of course I do my best thinking in the shower. The acoustics are good for it--and it's not like I have to spend a lot of time washing my hair. I've been struggling with the precise ending of my current novel-in-process, Smoke. I've had great writing ideas during the morning shower in the past; this morning held true to form. 

The novel is a detective story/noir mystery marbled with a little humor. It begins (as appropriate to the genre) when a beautiful woman hires a private detective. She smokes so much that it's even money whether she takes a breath that is smoke-free. The protagonist, who is trying to quit smoking, finds himself getting more smoke around her than when he was doing the smoking for himself. A relationship develops as the investigation proceeds. A murder suddenly brings urgency to the investigation. Another mysterious and beautiful woman complicates the investigation...and the conscience of the investigator. He discovers that the police have their minds firmly set as to the identity of the murderer, and won't be persuaded otherwise. The police have the evidence to support their case. The hero labors to solve two crimes while battling powerful players in the world of organized crime, uncooperative cops, break-ins at his home and business, and the distractions presented by a beautiful woman--who may also be a moll for a crime lord. He does all this while trying to run his regular business...a book store. This is his first case. Fortunately, he has a new secretary with a head for business and investigation. When the chips start to fall, each of their lives will depend on quick thinking as well as quick reflexes. 

The precise manner and sequence of those falling chips has been my most recent dilemma. Some of what came to me in the shower today, had previously presented itself among the plethora of possible climactic plot resolutions. I had resisted those earlier thoughts. I think that having worked with these characters for over a year, they had grown on me. I had developed an emotional attachment to them. In spite of my attachment, those characters have to do what they have to do. It will be a darker ending than I had originally anticipated; not the slightly slapstick finale like that common in many theatrical farces presented at the community theater, but a deadly noir ending with the blistering tension broken by the report of hand-held thunder, hot lead smashing into bone, bare knuckles crushing cartilage, and the screams of terrified women--or not. I'll plan it, but it will take on a life of its own in the writing. Maybe that's why I do it. If I know too many details in advance, will be no surprise.

I'd rather fight, than switch...or vice versa

The first home repair of the new year:
The frail told me that the light in the bedroom had burned out. She had already changed the bulb. The new one didn't shed any more light than an old shoe either. I grabbed the old bulb. It seemed fine to me. I hit the switch. The light pulsed like a warp nacelle, but just one time with each flip of the switch; it wouldn't stay lit. I had heard this story before. I knew the cure. I also knew that it would be the weekend before I could light up my doll's life with 120 volts and a 60 watt bulb. She knew the score. She would live with it until I was good and ready to make Edison's pet dance to my tune. 

(Picture from This Man Is Dangerous--which I also watched on Saturday. It's a great movie--French Noir featuring Eddie Constantine as Lemmy Caution. I'll do a write up on it...maybe Thursday)

It was a Saturday. The sun stared through a cloudy sky like a one-eyed man behind a smoking pipe. There was a foul smell in the air. It hit my nostrils like the stench of that frozen hamburger I had left in a drawer to thaw before Christmas vacation at college...and remembered two weeks later when the vacation was over. It was the odor of a task left undone. I had hidden the meat so my roommates wouldn't eat it before I got back from a late class--that part of the plan was entirely successful; nobody ate the hamburger; it was a long while before any of us wanted to eat hamburger again.

I checked my wallet for lettuce. I had enough for a small salad. I started the brown beast and drove it to the local mercantile. It was inside that I saw him. He was a big man, a Mack truck in a vest. I walked past without a word. I knew that I was in the right aisle.

He wasn't having it. "What do you need?" he said in a tone that he must have thought sounded helpful.

I wasn't sure that I liked his attitude. Maybe he was implying that I wasn't competent to find the right item. I wondered just who he thought he was, questioning my skills. I thought about politely bending his nose with a hard right cross to cure him from sticking it into my business. A couple things kept me from acting on that thought. First, I wasn't sure I could reach his nose without a stepladder. Second, I knew who he thought he was; he worked there; he had helped me at least one other time. 

"I need a light switch," I said with an air of casual electrical nonchalance. 

"There, on your left," he said, pointing. 

I'm pretty sure he said, "There," and not "they're." Either way, I saw the switches. 

"These are white, and those are off-white," he pointed to another basket. "What color did you need?" Apparently, the entire chromatic panoply of light switches consisted only of white, and off-white. 

Naturally, I had no idea what color I wanted. I didn't care. I knew I needed a 120 volt 15 amp switch. I looked at the picture on my phone that I had taken of the switch. 

"That's off-white," he said, looking at the picture.

I was impressed with the big man's grasp of the color palette, as well as his rapid application of the knowledge to the facts at hand. I had decided on white...ish. "I better get two," I said. I explained that this was not the first time that I had had to do this. Besides, there were two switches in the box. I figured that I might as well replace them both. 

Once again, there were two open checkouts. At one, a woman with 47 plastic storage boxes was fumbling through a purse. At the other, there was a guy I knew. I asked him if this was the quicker line. He said that it wasn't, but this was the only checkout that had the razor blades that he needed. I moved over behind the dame with the storage boxes. I figured those containers were meant either for Christmas decorations...or she had bad luck keeping pets. Probably the former. 

When I left the store, my acquaintance was still waiting in the other line. 

I had the element of surprise on my side for this caper. I cut the power and moved in under cover of darkness...or at least pretty poor natural light. In a matter of seconds I had cracked the combination on the cover; it was flat head, not phillips. Inside, things got a little tricky...I had to switch to the phillips head. I replaced the contents with the new stuff and replaced the cover. No one would even know that the box had been breached. 

When I restarted the juice, those electrons danced to give off a soft white light that would make angels blush. 

In a Lonely Place

The above photo from IMDB of Humprey Bogart and Gloria Grahame was part of the publicity for the movie In a Lonely Place, directed by Nicholas Ray, 1950. Bogart and Grahame were film noir royalty. Grahame usually played a moll who took more hits than Sylvester Stallone's Rocky. Bogey, or course, delivered a lot of hits. In one scene in this movie, Bogart's disturbed character, Dixon Steele, beats up a young man and nearly brains him with a rock. Grahame plays Laurel, the girl who can't decide whether her lover is a murderer.

I haven't had the pleasure of seeing this entire film. I have seen several parts of it, and want to see all of it. Bogey's character is a writer; he is asked what position he works from. He replies that it's usually from the sitting position. The most memorable lines from the film are spoken, and written by Bogart's character: "I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived for a few weeks while she loved me."

In my own noir novel, I find that the conversation flows easier than the exposition. The characters take on their own personalities; they carry the story. Their desires and dilemmas draw forth the tale. Each character forms an inherent part of the vehicle that propels them to the final destination...which may be terminal for some of them.

Vera

Wednesday night, Sleep capriciously refused to abscond with my conscious thought to the land of peaceful dreams. I rose from that bed of unrelenting wakefulness, and reserved tickets for a special event; I also added some hotel reservations. Sleep still maintained her discrete distance. What choice did I have? I turned to film noir.

Detour - Edward G. Ulmer 1945 - staring Tom Neal and Ann Savage. Neal plays a man who is hitchhiking across the country to see his sweetheart; he finds misery packaged in a pale sweater and a dark skirt. (That's misery in the skirt, not Neal's character).

Tom Neal makes a sympathetic character, but it's Ann Savage's performance as Vera that holds this otherwise forgettable film above of the waters of obscurity. As Vera, Ann is at her most savage. Nearly every time she opens her mouth, it's like having the jagged end of a broken bottle shoved into your guts; every phrase gives the bottle another painful twist. Vera is not just abrasive, she is terminally caustic.

I won't give away the ending; I will say that Vera's problems were finally resolved via lines of communication. 

As for my own little noir work, I had to go back and add some things to the cemetery scene. I look at it like Calypso's island of Ogygia in Homer's Odyssey; my reasons for thinking that are, of course, all my own, and are partially based on an explanation given about the island in a college class on the hero in literature. 

That was one of the least useful, and most interesting classes that I ever took. Classes like that made college fun...and we can all see where that got me.