So only the other day I was forced to have a quiet word with Stephen King about inserting himself into the narrative, and now I catch James Ellroy doing exactly the same thing. I shake my head with these guys, I really do.
Fred Otash is clearly a figure with greater cultural currency in The States than this side of the pond – as such my knowledge of him is largely derived from Google. It seems he was a private detective who was huge as a scandal-raker in the 1950s, apparently supplying the magazines of the time and bugging everyone who was anybody. If there was dirt then Fred Otash knew about it. This is of course grist to James Ellroy’s seedy little mill, and he puts his 1950s LA cop scene hat back on and goes wild. What we have is a counterpoint to ‘L.A. Confidential’, ‘The Black Dahlia’, ‘The Big Nowhere’ and ‘White Jazz’ – the source of all that A-grade, A-list, A-bomb Hollywood gossip which runs in the background throughout the books.
And the result is a lot of fun, but totally and ludicrously salacious. I don’t want to come over as some kind of prude here, but really? Was Hollywood in the 1950s so full of bisexual stars who would do anything with anyone – as well as animals, vegetables and minerals? It’s like Kenneth Anger’s ‘Hollywood Babylon’ run to lewd and nonsensical extremes. We all know that Rock Hudson was gay, I don’t think that news will surprise anyone, but surely that tale about Katharine Hepburn is not true? And surely James Dean never worked as a gopher for this kind of stuff or made his own porn movies? Really, you’re just making this up now – aren’t you, James?
Ellroy’s popping and fizzing, delirious prose style just adds hyperbole, but it also makes it seem utterly ridiculous. By the time we’re narrating threesomes between Otash, Liz Taylor and various nubile young lovelies, it just feels like some big, gaudy masturbation fantasy. It also reads like complete nonsense. There’s just so much mud thrown against the wall you can barely see the wall anymore, let alone the individual bits of mud. The whole thing comes across as a wild fantasy, salaciously libelling a bunch of dead film stars for little more than rude, over the top kicks. It’s fun undoubtedly, but probably quite inconsequential and fairly easy to dismiss.