I will probably need a few days to recover before I’m posting regularly, but I wanted to check in quickly to answer a question that arrived while I was gone, and to respond to a comment. The question: have any of the Wilderness books been optioned for film? The answer: Yes. Bigger answer: Nothing came of it, and I don’t think anything ever will come of it. Big books don’t make good movies.
Here’s a comment somebody named Bert posted in response to one of my reviews of Deadwood:
THE STORY IS PRETTY BELIEVABLE, THE TOWN LOOKS QUIT REALISTIC, ACTORS ARE DRESSED WELL FOR THAT TIME. THE ONLY THING THAT REALLY TURNS ME OFF IS THE CONSTANT CURSING I CAN NOT EVEN STAY IN THE SAME ROOM WITH THIS FILTH…SORRY OR NOT YOU LOST A VIEWER, CLEAN UP THE LANGUAGE SO FAMILIES CAN WATCH THIS TOGETHER………
DON’T WANT ANY E-MAIL FROM YOU IN REFERANCE TO MY FELLINGS
Bert is shouting at me because somehow he has this idea that *I* am HBO.
It would be nice, I suppose, if I were. Think of the great things I could do. I could wave my wand and have a new season of Farscape, fully funded, complete artistic license for the writers and directors and actors. I could call the cast of The Sopranos in and make them eat lunch with me. I could contact Meryl Streep and say, hey, you need to be working more, got any projects in mind? I could cast the screenplay I wrote with my friend Suz and have a good shot at actually getting the director and actors we want, and the budget necessary to film in Italy.
In many ways it would be great fun to actually be HBO, but I’m not, so Bert’s anger, as colorful as it is, is wasted.
Finally, you’ll have noted that Bert forbids me to email him about his feelings. Which is just fine, really, because I hadn’t actually scheduled the time necessary to give Bert’s feelings the attention they deserve, nor do I think he’d much like what I’d have to say. Of course it seems to me that it would be a good thing for Bert to talk to somebody about his feelings — he’s an angry guy, is Bert — but I’m happy to leave that to somebody — to just about anybody — else. Is Ernie in the house, by any chance?
Peevish? Me? Well, maybe a little. I just drove eight hours in driving rain, two of those hours in stop and go traffic. Let’s just say that Bert’s timing stinks, as do his spelling and his powers of deduction.