4.0 out of 5 stars
A glimpse inside the sausage factory, May 12, 2010
This review is from: The Blue Dahlia (Paperback)
THE BLUE DAHLIA offers a rare early glimpse into the sausage-making machinery of 1940s Hollywood.
First and foremost, it's a cracking good read. A Chandler original, it's the only one of his original scripts that he never adapted into prose (unlike PLAYBACK, which also exists as a novel) -- so this is the only place you can read this story, rather than watch it. And, other than PLAYBACK, it's the only Chandler script that wasn't based on someone else's material. If for no other reason, it's fascinating to read to see how the legendary writer's brusque, bruised prose style translates into screenplay form.
A compelling whodunnit, virtually free of the usual private eye tropes, its central character is a returning World War II vet who's accused of a murder he didn't commit. A complex slippery slide of betrayal draws him into the seedy underbelly of 1940s Los Angeles as he tries to exact justice and clear his name. We might turn to Chandler for a sense of nostalgia of times gone by -- but his stuff always cuts back with moments that feel bracingly modern. The script has beats that are surprisingly dark, gruesomely violent. He keeps trying to sneak in moments of a rawer reality than 1940s Hollywood would normally allow.
The script itself is a strange read. The editor has chosen to present a late draft, warts and all. It's laced with apparently incomplete script revisions -- the infamous green, pink, goldenrod, etc. pages that turn production scripts into rainbow colored messes. Thus, characters' names change, chunks of dialogue -- and sometimes whole scenes -- repeat; and the clumsy jointures of late scenes are a bit too obvious. (Chandler notoriously was forced by government edict to change the identity of the killer late in the game; before your eyes, a slowly building subplot takes an almost comically surreal left turn to clear the suspect and point the finger at another player.)
The script is given context by an introductory memoir by producer John Houseman (Orson Welles' former partner in crime at the Mercury Theater and on the set of CITIZEN KANE). It's a remarkable piece, telling a troubling anecdote about how Chandler finished the draft against a looming deadline. (Chandler was churning out pages even as they were finishing shooting; the studio was racing against time to finish the picture before star Alan Ladd got sent back to the Army.) However, I'd urge you to NOT read Houseman's intro if you haven't seen the movie already as he blows some crucial plot turns.
The afterword features a historical look at Chandler's Hollywood work, including some more insights about the making of the film. Interestingly some of the details are at odds with Houseman's version. It's interesting to consider how the fragmented pieces fit together and puzzle -- like Marlowe, perhaps -- what the real version of the story is, after it's been separated from the self-serving filters of the various witnesses.
A terrific little book, but recommended only if you've burned through the rest of the Chandler oeuvre and are dying for more; or if you have a particular interest in the ugly business of how movies got, and get, made.
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