Saturday, cigarette #2
Tabloid journalism should live forever, not just because objectivity is impossible — everybody knows that, even liberals — but because even trying for objectivity is fatal to a storyteller, which is all a reporter really is. Also, I feel very strongly that every time someone finds a headless body in a topless bar I deserve to hear about it.
After sitting all the way through last night's Netflix-sponsored Curtis Hanson double feature (Wonder Boys and L.A. Confidential), more than anything else I was disappointed with Danny DeVito as Sid Hudgens, and reminded of how few movies I've seen with a tabloid reporter character I considered well-cast. DeVito came across as a critic of the "cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat" variety. He was pathetic where he should have been intimidating and flabby where he should have been muscular. (The fault here probably lies with Ellroy and not Hanson, but it definitely lies with somebody.)
In fact, the only actor I've ever seen completely nail a tough tabloid hound is Burt Lancaster in Sweet Smell of Success, who comes across as muscular in the way that a Walter Winchell column is muscular. Every time he's onscreen I'm afraid he's going to punch somebody. Which is also something you had to worry about with Walter Winchell.
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