Sunday, 10 January 2016 10:18 pm
Book Review: Silver Screen Fiend
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deckardcanineYes, I'd said I was reading Good Omens and thus led you to expect that I would review it next. Alas, I injudiciously took it to a movie theater on Christmas and left it behind. You can't really go back and check there yourself. I left information at the lost-and-found, but to no avail. I settled for ordering a copy at the library. Fortunately, I had received the gift of this new book -- Patton Oswalt's memoir from last year -- to tide me over, somewhat appropriately.
I couldn't have told you from memory that Oswalt voiced Remy in Ratatouille, let alone anything else he'd done. Now I'll remember, even if the book focuses primarily on his life in the second half of the '90s.
Why then? Because that's when he was most truly a silver screen friend -- or "sprocket fiend," as prefers. (I suspect that it was his working title until someone pointed out how obscure it was.) Get used to seeing that term a lot, along with "Night Cafe," the latter being even more obscure the way he uses it. You see, van Gogh's painting of the same name took a toll on the painter but gave him new insights that improved his performance. Oswalt describes several "Night Cafes" for himself.
In those four years, he watched more than 700 new and old movies -- that's even more frequently than I do -- at theaters, no less. Bearing in mind that an addiction is defined by skewed priorities more than by frequency, I'd say he had it considerably worse. He actually recorded all the dates and theaters and put them in the index. (I've seen between a third and half of them.) He also mentions a lot of names in the field of cinema that meant nothing to me even after I looked them up; at some point, I stopped bothering.
Lest you think this is all about watching, Oswalt does talk about various interesting moments in his early career as a comedian. This includes stand-up (with a number of pretty famous acquaintances), writing for MadTV until he got fired, and having a bit part in the dud Down Periscope. What he really wanted to do (albeit without really trying) was write and sell a screenplay. He still hasn't. Looking back, he notes a lot of youthful cockiness.
The last part before the acknowledgments and index is a collection of Oswalt's essays concerning films and short stories inspired by them. For the most part, they do not show the same quality as the rest of the book, and sometimes he admits that they leave something to be desired. Maybe he wrote them much earlier.
Ricky Gervais, Amy Schumer, and Joss Whedon are cited among the many blurbs praising this book. That may give you a hint at Oswalt's irreverence; he swears pretty often. Nevertheless, he seems polite enough (now) to individuals. At least he makes a point not to name anyone else who comes across as a jerk/fool in his vignettes.
I can't say I found it hilarious like the excerpted reviewers did, just fitfully funny. It is somewhat interesting to peer into the mind of a struggling entertainer and addict -- when he's not struggling to make the reader understand. But if I want an irreverent sense of humor, recondite references, and a strange method of organization, I'll keep reading Good Omens. Which I will.
I couldn't have told you from memory that Oswalt voiced Remy in Ratatouille, let alone anything else he'd done. Now I'll remember, even if the book focuses primarily on his life in the second half of the '90s.
Why then? Because that's when he was most truly a silver screen friend -- or "sprocket fiend," as prefers. (I suspect that it was his working title until someone pointed out how obscure it was.) Get used to seeing that term a lot, along with "Night Cafe," the latter being even more obscure the way he uses it. You see, van Gogh's painting of the same name took a toll on the painter but gave him new insights that improved his performance. Oswalt describes several "Night Cafes" for himself.
In those four years, he watched more than 700 new and old movies -- that's even more frequently than I do -- at theaters, no less. Bearing in mind that an addiction is defined by skewed priorities more than by frequency, I'd say he had it considerably worse. He actually recorded all the dates and theaters and put them in the index. (I've seen between a third and half of them.) He also mentions a lot of names in the field of cinema that meant nothing to me even after I looked them up; at some point, I stopped bothering.
Lest you think this is all about watching, Oswalt does talk about various interesting moments in his early career as a comedian. This includes stand-up (with a number of pretty famous acquaintances), writing for MadTV until he got fired, and having a bit part in the dud Down Periscope. What he really wanted to do (albeit without really trying) was write and sell a screenplay. He still hasn't. Looking back, he notes a lot of youthful cockiness.
The last part before the acknowledgments and index is a collection of Oswalt's essays concerning films and short stories inspired by them. For the most part, they do not show the same quality as the rest of the book, and sometimes he admits that they leave something to be desired. Maybe he wrote them much earlier.
Ricky Gervais, Amy Schumer, and Joss Whedon are cited among the many blurbs praising this book. That may give you a hint at Oswalt's irreverence; he swears pretty often. Nevertheless, he seems polite enough (now) to individuals. At least he makes a point not to name anyone else who comes across as a jerk/fool in his vignettes.
I can't say I found it hilarious like the excerpted reviewers did, just fitfully funny. It is somewhat interesting to peer into the mind of a struggling entertainer and addict -- when he's not struggling to make the reader understand. But if I want an irreverent sense of humor, recondite references, and a strange method of organization, I'll keep reading Good Omens. Which I will.