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1.0
William Peter Blatty, Demons Five, Exorcists Nothing (Donald I. Fine, 1996)
William Peter Blatty, the guy who made being a priest and a novelist cool years before Andrew Greeley, released two of the outright finest novels of the seventies, The Exorcist and Twinkle, Twinkle, Killer Kane, both of which were made into equally excellent movies. Demons Five, Exorcists Nothing is, according to the jacket, loosely based on Blatty's travails in getting those two films (and a third, What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?, a light sixties comedy probably best forgotten) made. What it actually is is a painful showcase of how far the mighty can fall.
DFEN is like being in a therapy session with a crashing bore who thinks that the best way to get your attention is to name-drop, and who is so self-absorbed that he believes talking about himself is all anyone will care about. And I could say that it's a mark of Blatty's writing ability that his narrator is so loathsome. But when the character is too loathsome for the reader to continue reading the book, has the writer accomplished anything? Not by my measuring stick. I'm sure there were some witty jabs at Hollywood here, but they passed me by, I find Americans' obsession with the inner workings of Hollywood about as confusing as I find the British obsession with the Royal Family, and about as useful. This one's for the bonfire. (zero)
William Peter Blatty, the guy who made being a priest and a novelist cool years before Andrew Greeley, released two of the outright finest novels of the seventies, The Exorcist and Twinkle, Twinkle, Killer Kane, both of which were made into equally excellent movies. Demons Five, Exorcists Nothing is, according to the jacket, loosely based on Blatty's travails in getting those two films (and a third, What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?, a light sixties comedy probably best forgotten) made. What it actually is is a painful showcase of how far the mighty can fall.
DFEN is like being in a therapy session with a crashing bore who thinks that the best way to get your attention is to name-drop, and who is so self-absorbed that he believes talking about himself is all anyone will care about. And I could say that it's a mark of Blatty's writing ability that his narrator is so loathsome. But when the character is too loathsome for the reader to continue reading the book, has the writer accomplished anything? Not by my measuring stick. I'm sure there were some witty jabs at Hollywood here, but they passed me by, I find Americans' obsession with the inner workings of Hollywood about as confusing as I find the British obsession with the Royal Family, and about as useful. This one's for the bonfire. (zero)
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