A wicked read on the biz

ONE of the more memorable specimens in Terrill Lee Lankford’s 2004 L.A. sleazearium, “Earthquake Weather,” was Clyde McCoy, a third-string script doctor. A man perpetually trying to find a toehold in Hollywood, Clyde is the kind of guy who, upon learning of the murder of protagonist Mark Hayes’ roommate, blithely asks the distraught man if he’d like to read one of his scripts. A character too good to let go, Clyde plus Mark and a host of other Hollywood poseurs have been revived in Lankford’s “Blonde Lightning.”

The novel opens exactly six months after the ’94 Northridge quake, as Mark notes: “When you first get to Los Angeles, it does not take long to realize that the ground you walk on is untrustworthy, even when it is not moving underfoot.” Mark’s sense of unease stems not just from his roommate Charity James’ death or the Northridge aftershocks but from O.J. Simpson’s slow-speed chase. which interrupts Mark’s enjoyment of Game 5 of the NBA Finals.

It also puts him squarely in the path of Clyde, who wanders into Mark’s favorite watering hole during the televised pursuit and offers to buy him a drink as a peace offering for being so insensitive. Given their history and Mark’s observation that Clyde is “an onion with layers upon layers of facade,” you would think Mark would have the good sense to go on the lam himself, but after Charity’s funeral and losing his job as a “D-boy” or development boy when his boss is murdered, Mark wants a screen credit in the worst way. But is he willing to work for close to minimum wage as an associate producer/flunky on Clyde’s independent film, “Blonde Lightning”?

Luckily for us he’s willing to do that and a lot more. The result makes the novel “Blonde Lightning” not just another dose of murderous mayhem but a deeper and more disturbing meditation on Mark’s love-hate relationship with the film industry. Informed by Lankford’s experiences as a journeyman screenwriter-producer (his credits include 1988’s “Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers,” reportedly filmed in five days for $58,000), Mark disses and dissects Hollywood’s finest with gimlet-eyed dismay, from his boss’ murderer fretting that the media hype surrounding Simpson will deflect attention from the auction of his movie rights to attendees at Charity’s funeral who skip the service for the nosh-and-networking opportunities at the repast afterward.

In between the many acid-etched characterizations and spot-on descriptions of Hollywood hangouts is serious business -- the making of “Blonde Lightning,” Clyde’s hommage to film noir.

For Mark, an associate producer credit is better than nothing, even if it means enduring Vince’s fiancee-du-jour as a co-producer and a born-again-Christian investor whose major requirement is that Karen Black be cast to appease his fixated adult son.

But when Mace Thornburg, a PR hack with a grudge against Clyde’s girlfriend and half of Hollywood starts harassing the couple and a string of deadly accidents involve Clyde and those around him, the question is not whether Thornburg will be killed but who won’t want to score this ultimate credit.

Originally envisioned with “Earthquake Weather” as one volume, “Blonde Lightning” stands on its own as a wicked cool read and further solidifies the early praise about Lankford as a latter-day successor to Nathanael West and Raymond Chandler. With its structure cleverly mirroring the filmmaking process and its behind-the-scenes dish and details, “Blonde Lightning” will teach readers more about independent film production than a year at AFI.

But for all its wit and wisecracks, the novel is also a paean to films and the people who make them, the ones who don’t make the front page of Variety or the Hollywood Reporter.

*

Paula L. Woods is a regular contributor to Book Review and the author of the Charlotte Justice mystery series, including the forthcoming “Strange Bedfellows.”