Last night I cracked open the single-malt (for the first time in months- it's called rationing- I can't afford to replace the nectar of the gods...) and finished watching The Secret Agent. Nothing like Robin Williams playing a psycho killer to make for a good finish on the day. Then I cracked open the book itself (Dover edition- $3.00) to re-read it. Last time I read it, I was the TA for a class on Terrorism and Political Violence and had to read it to grade the tests.

The movie-not as bad as they say on IMDB (for perspective, they oughta sit through Herbie- Fully Loaded if they want to experience true greatness of badness). Like I said, I loves me a Robin Williams villian turn. Hates me a Robin Williams good guy experience What Dreams May Come- was unfuckingwatchable in my book. I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a pen whilst sitting through it. And we will not discuss Snatch Adams ( I know I'm misspelling- it's intentional- I really didn't like the guy to start with- met him in college once). Treacly messes, all of them.

So. A Joseph Conrad night. Then I started watching The Sheltering Sky. Gotta say I wasn't a big fan of the book. And the movie isn't all that promising. But I'll give it a shot- Paul Bowles is a narrarator in it, which is interesting. And he sits in a cafe gazing sorrowfully at the actors. Love the sorrowful author turn. Who wouldn't? Imagine Hemingway gazing intently at Cooper and Hayes in the 1930s adaptation of A Farewell to Arms and wondering why Cooper is wearing as much eye makeup as Hayes. At least Adolph Menjou isn't horrible in that one.

And I would pay good money to see Capote in some shot of In Cold Blood- maybe as a prisoner in the jail. That would entertain me.

Anyhew, that's the evening past. Adaptations of novels, and the actual source novels themselves.