A worthy son

Fuck Head and girlfriend

Here inscribed is the tale of a man (me) and his search for the fabled treasure that is the film of the book of tremendous short stories by Denis Johnson, titled Jesus’ Son…

Lo! I had been to almost every video hire store in town. Woe! The only place of many that had it had also lent it. Oh no! A week later, it had not been returned on time and was declared ‘OVERDUE!’ by the man behind the counter. Holy moly! A week later it had been returned to its homeland, but by some devious hand filed incorrectly, and thus the man behind the counter (a different one) proclaimed the fabled film ‘LOST!’ in a tone that was at first angry and then profusely apologetic; and then he, who had made this declaration, assented and then, almost at once, betrayed his assent to deny my request of a text alert should it reappear out of the depths of chaos. Behold! Myself returning twice hence to search in vain, eyes aching from the strain of visually raking those long rows of damaged spines… Until… Holy shit! Yesterday afternoon it actually reappeared on its correct shelf, and even in its correct alphabetical placement! The fabled film discovered, rented, and finally watched!

Is it any good?

Fuck yes. And not just because of the above outlined build-up of anticipation. It is one of the best book adaptations I have ever seen.

Short story collections are, by their fragmentary nature, difficult to translate into a single, cohesive piece of filmmaking. But the filmmakers were served here by the book’s presentation of a related set of recollections, if disjointed and hazed. Thus the film is able to also display these vignettes under the believable and workable guise of a single, junked-out character’s narration (Fuck Head’s), with few interferences to build an overall arc.

The film is, therefore, able to remain very true to its source, while the divergences aren’t so heavily felt. Anyway, there is little that is messed around with or cut. Which is satisfying in that you get to pair this visualisation of the book against your own mind’s image; and because it treats the source with a great deal of fidelity and respect. The film makes the material its own – it is its own fine machine – but the filmmaker’s also haven’t felt the need to shit on someone else’s creativity in order to imprint their own artistic stamp.

In short, the film is a bit like a kiss from a great lover. It is deep and rich and satisfying, and it is a wonderful moment, one you will not forget. But still, it reminds you of the kiss given by your first lover, which was all the deeper, richer and more satisfying because it was the first, and because it was still a different kind of love.

In absentia

Yes, I have been absent, neglectful, and perhaps even selfish in this.

But I felt the big hairy spider of the interweb breathing down my neck, and decided I’d better scamper for a while before my blood was drained into its veins, and my dried husk of a carcass disposed of casually to the left of the abyss.

But I took the opportunity to read some amazing fiction:

'Something Happened', Joseph Heller

Heller has never produced anything better than the stunning Catch-22, but then as Heller said himself, ‘Who has?’.

Something Happened has almost no narrative. It is largely a 550 page a-chronological rant from a successful corporate executive about his fears at work and the ways in which he hates his family. It is one of the most indicting chronicles of 1950s America I have ever read. The endlessly selfish logic, chauvinism, and the pathological fear of failure (as opposed to risking failure in pursuit of real personal greatness via honesty) is remarkably captured. It extends into a social and cultural phenomenon. And its filtered forms are frighteningly recognisable beyond the novel’s historical period and geography.

'Jesus' Son', Denis Johnson

I read this in an afternoon. I feel I ought to read it another two or three times. I’ve read the story Emergency previously – and loved it, for more than just the baby bunnies scene. The whole collection though is stunningly written and disturbing in equal measures. The short fiction form serves perfectly the junked out recollections of the narrator – who remembers and misremembers with little differentiation. What I mean is, the collection works as a whole and as its contained parts for the same reasons.  And the writing is so punchy and fresh, it’s a bit like having your nose broken, but enjoying the strong scent of blood.

I really want to see the film version. Unlike the film of the amazing short story collection Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, by David Foster Wallace (apparently horrifyingly poor, though not necessarily why DFW topped himself), Jesus’ Son is supposed to be a-ma-zing.

Is Christmas now?

NIN gear is probably unlikely.

What is much more likely, to the point of probably having already been put on order by significant persons in my life, are these two books:

I actually need Wallace Stevens right now. I don’t know why. It’s like the craving for a particular type of beer, a particular satisfying goodness… a really smooth treat.