Hank and his wife, Sarah, agree to write a screenplay, and encounter the strange world of the movie industry.
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Hank and his wife, Sarah, agree to write a screenplay, and encounter the strange world of the movie industry.
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Bukowski takes you step by step through the making of the movie, with a sardonic eye for the details. Schroeder and his pal tried to get in touch with the lower east side of LA, which Bukowski enjoys poking fun at. He wasn't too keen about having Mickey Roarke cast as himself, he had Sean Penn in mind, but was smitten with the idea of Faye Dunaway as his love interest.
The book doesn't plunge to the lower depths as do his short stories and poetry. Bukowski keeps himself semi-detached from the subject of his early life. The book, like the movie, looks back at these formative years in a wry way that has a number of amusing twists and turns. He ends appropriately enough with the screening of the movie, with much of the gang invited to attend, making a party of it down in front of the screen as they assessed the film. Not bad, Bukowski concluded.
Bukowski tells the story of his screenwriting experience through his alter ego Henry Chinaski, a survivor when everyone else in his crowd had already died. It's all there--dealing with easily bruised egos, the Hollywood eccentrics, the on again, off again production problems in making the film, and the continuous inconsistency of cash flow. What lends _Hollywood_ its wonderful resonance is its realness--the boldness and the pluck of its coarse leading player, Charles Bukowski/Hank Chinaski. And of course, his inspiration, the bottle of wine which was, even on the set, never too far off.