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A review by jesssicawho
Death Was in the Picture by Linda L. Richards
3.0
Review published here: http://www.hipsterbookclub.com/reviews/copy/0309/death_was_in_the_picture_linda_l_richards.html
Linda L. Richards's Death Was in the Picture is a detective story set in 1930s Los Angeles, amid the contrasting glamour of Hollywood and the troubling Great Depression. Though the plot has some shortcomings, the thrilling backdrop of an excessive and scandalous Tinseltown makes the read fleetingly enjoyable but ultimately forgettable.
When a young starlet is found dead during a ritzy Hollywood shindig, all eyes immediately turn to dreamboat actor Laird Wyndham, the last person seen with the woman. Despite the suspicious circumstances and a merciless media that has already pegged him as guilty, Wyndham asserts his innocence. Private investigator Dexter Theroux finds himself in a pickle when he's hired by both sides: a peculiar anonymous organization intent on keeping Wyndham behind bars and the accused himself in search of the real culprit.
Dex might be the hired expert, but it is often his secretary and makeshift sidekick Katherine (Kitty) Pangborn who runs the show, and it is through her eyes that we watch the story unfold. Kitty and Dex, first introduced in Richards's Death Was the Other Woman, have a comical and friendly rapport, bouncing ideas and wisecracks off each other. Kitty's name might not be on the door, but she is every bit as vital to the business as Dex. Without her, he would waste away in his office with a bottle of Jack Daniels until the money ran out. Keeping Dex in line and on task might be Kitty's first priority—after all, her paycheck depends on his work—but her brains and moxie provide a different perspective to the investigation.
While Dex and Kitty's back-and-forth banter and unfulfilled sexual tension is fun to read, they aren't the sharpest gumshoes. They spend most of their time going in circles, talking to the same few people while overlooking what readers will pick up as obvious signs of conspiracy. To be fair to them—at the expense of the author—there doesn't seem to be much to investigate. For the reader, the real fun of a murder-mystery is piecing together clues as the story progresses, but there aren't many pieces to pick up, at least not for the majority of the book. We have a famous actor arrested for a violent crime for which the police and media think he is fully capable and responsible, but our detective team has a hunch that he is innocent. The few people they interrogate paint a very neutral portrait of the accused: He has something of a temper but probably couldn't actually commit murder. Or maybe he could. No one is willing to get off the fence about it.
A main drawback of the book is that instead of focusing on the actual murder mystery and solving the crime, Richards tries to make a statement about the ethical standards and shortcomings of the movie business in its early years. By trying to tie in a real, historical scandal with the fictional account, she introduces too many components without allowing proper buildup and development, resulting in a flat and patchy plot. Richards gets a point for being ambitious, but she fails to follow through and ends up needing to explain the historical aspects and relevance in a closing commentary.
What the book lacks in plot, it makes up in setting and mood. Though the 1930s setting is standard for a noir detective story, Richards excels at bringing that whimsical world of excess alive. When Kitty finds herself in situations most people can only dream of—sitting across the table from the biggest star in the world, attending a lavish party filled with celebrities, on set during the filming of an epic movie—readers share her astonishment and delight. Even Richards's portrayal of Los Angeles's other side—the one crumbling under the pressure of the Depression—draws readers into the story. The book certainly doesn't break any ground in the genre, but it will provide readers with an evening or two of escape from reality.
Had Richards focused more on the murder mystery rather than trying to make a statement about morality in Hollywood, readers could focus on the book's strengths more than its disappointments. Death Was in the Picture works better when considered a period piece, rather than a suspenseful whodunit. With a gutsy female lead like Kitty, as well as the fascinating background of 1931, future books in this series could impress. Sadly, the lack of cohesive plot and brain-teasing mystery in this release leaves much to be desired for crime novel fans.
Linda L. Richards's Death Was in the Picture is a detective story set in 1930s Los Angeles, amid the contrasting glamour of Hollywood and the troubling Great Depression. Though the plot has some shortcomings, the thrilling backdrop of an excessive and scandalous Tinseltown makes the read fleetingly enjoyable but ultimately forgettable.
When a young starlet is found dead during a ritzy Hollywood shindig, all eyes immediately turn to dreamboat actor Laird Wyndham, the last person seen with the woman. Despite the suspicious circumstances and a merciless media that has already pegged him as guilty, Wyndham asserts his innocence. Private investigator Dexter Theroux finds himself in a pickle when he's hired by both sides: a peculiar anonymous organization intent on keeping Wyndham behind bars and the accused himself in search of the real culprit.
Dex might be the hired expert, but it is often his secretary and makeshift sidekick Katherine (Kitty) Pangborn who runs the show, and it is through her eyes that we watch the story unfold. Kitty and Dex, first introduced in Richards's Death Was the Other Woman, have a comical and friendly rapport, bouncing ideas and wisecracks off each other. Kitty's name might not be on the door, but she is every bit as vital to the business as Dex. Without her, he would waste away in his office with a bottle of Jack Daniels until the money ran out. Keeping Dex in line and on task might be Kitty's first priority—after all, her paycheck depends on his work—but her brains and moxie provide a different perspective to the investigation.
While Dex and Kitty's back-and-forth banter and unfulfilled sexual tension is fun to read, they aren't the sharpest gumshoes. They spend most of their time going in circles, talking to the same few people while overlooking what readers will pick up as obvious signs of conspiracy. To be fair to them—at the expense of the author—there doesn't seem to be much to investigate. For the reader, the real fun of a murder-mystery is piecing together clues as the story progresses, but there aren't many pieces to pick up, at least not for the majority of the book. We have a famous actor arrested for a violent crime for which the police and media think he is fully capable and responsible, but our detective team has a hunch that he is innocent. The few people they interrogate paint a very neutral portrait of the accused: He has something of a temper but probably couldn't actually commit murder. Or maybe he could. No one is willing to get off the fence about it.
A main drawback of the book is that instead of focusing on the actual murder mystery and solving the crime, Richards tries to make a statement about the ethical standards and shortcomings of the movie business in its early years. By trying to tie in a real, historical scandal with the fictional account, she introduces too many components without allowing proper buildup and development, resulting in a flat and patchy plot. Richards gets a point for being ambitious, but she fails to follow through and ends up needing to explain the historical aspects and relevance in a closing commentary.
What the book lacks in plot, it makes up in setting and mood. Though the 1930s setting is standard for a noir detective story, Richards excels at bringing that whimsical world of excess alive. When Kitty finds herself in situations most people can only dream of—sitting across the table from the biggest star in the world, attending a lavish party filled with celebrities, on set during the filming of an epic movie—readers share her astonishment and delight. Even Richards's portrayal of Los Angeles's other side—the one crumbling under the pressure of the Depression—draws readers into the story. The book certainly doesn't break any ground in the genre, but it will provide readers with an evening or two of escape from reality.
Had Richards focused more on the murder mystery rather than trying to make a statement about morality in Hollywood, readers could focus on the book's strengths more than its disappointments. Death Was in the Picture works better when considered a period piece, rather than a suspenseful whodunit. With a gutsy female lead like Kitty, as well as the fascinating background of 1931, future books in this series could impress. Sadly, the lack of cohesive plot and brain-teasing mystery in this release leaves much to be desired for crime novel fans.