When you wake up covered in blood, a knife on the floor, your head full of pills and vodka, lying in bed alongside the body of your boyfriend who’s been stabbed to death, in a fifthfloor flat that’s locked from the inside, it’s kind of hard to say: ‘It’s not what it looks like.’
Millicent Spark, make-up artist and murderer, has been set free after twenty-four years spent in the gaol for a crime she still considers herself innocent of. From an active, successful, creative professional woman of early middle age she has become a frail, agoraphobic, self-doubting old granny that seems unable to deal with the outside world after half a lifetime of prison. Millie decides not to be a burden on the two old ladies who have taken her in after her last relative died. After all, she has been practically dead to the world since 1994, since that morning when she woke up covered in the blood of her boyfriend. It’s better to accept her fate and exit the scene on her own terms.
When you have not known it for so long, freedom can be a terrifying thing.
Millie’s suicidal plans are interrupted by the new lodger her two friends have invited to share their apartment. Jerry is another type of loner, entering the picture from the opposite direction: an eighteen year old orphan who came to Glasgow to escape from a dangerous criminal career in breaking and entering and to study film at the local university, as he promised his late grandmother.
Milie and Jerry are as yet unaware that they share a common passion for ‘video nasties’, as the horror movies from the late 70s to early 80s have been labelled by an easily offended press. Then Millie finds an old photograph from 1994, and the events that led to her imprisonment are sharply brought back into focus.
That atrocious murder is still making waves after all these years, when Millie’s innocent questions about the photograph stir up a nest of vipers, bent on resuming their killer spree.
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I’ve been a longtime fan of Christopher Brookmyre, both of his Parlabane series and of his stand-alone novels. Even so, ‘The Cut’ feels a cut above his usual fare : better plotted, more restrained in the social commentary, a bit more serious than his usual tongue-in-cheek delivery but in this way also more effective in the use of black humour and snarky dialogue.
I was a bit unsure in the beginning about the extensive use of flashbacks to the time of the original murder, but I was easily carried forward in the story by the excellent interaction between two circumspect loners. Millie and Jerry have a lot more in common that the ages stamped on their passport would warrant and the opening quote from Oscar Wilde is well chosen:
The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.
When push comes to shove, Millie finds the fires of her spirit were only dimmed, not extinguished, and Jerry has had to grow up fast among the street gangs of his childhood. The two amateur sleuths set out to find out why somebody is still ready to kill rather than answer questions about the 1994 case. Most of the clues point in the direction of the last movie Millicent Spark worked on as a special effects artist, in the days before CGI offered easy (and fake) solutions.
That horror movie, ‘Mancipium’ , was never officially released, and on the internet grapevine it has the reputation of being cursed: almost everybody linked to the movie has died or disappeared shortly after production finished and the original reels were stolen.
‘Arguably the first ever special effect used on film was decapitation,’ Millie told her. ‘Thomas Edison’s The Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots in 1895.’
The novel scored major geek points with me for the evocation of the horror scene of my VCR watching youth: from the exploitation movies of the seventies to the Italian productions of Cinecitta, from lavish parties in Cannes to discussions of gore make-up and realistic blood spills. Millie and Jerry easily score points off each other in conversations meant to establish who has the best trove of trivia about the movie industry.
... well, actually, you have to ask yourself what kind of sick mind derives gratification from seeing people being butchered.
Brookmyre manages to include in the discussion the controversies surrounding this genre, including the fake outrage pushed by the scandal sheets, the dubious financing and Mob connections of the producers, the forced prostitution and the backdoor deals that secured distribution, the use of drugs and bribery, the attraction some men in power felt for the lavish lifestyle of the movie people.
‘You ask me, that’s the real reason Freddy is drawing out his interest in this movie. He can get his rocks off far from the prying eyes of the same reporters and paparazzi his daddy would be training on anyone else.’
Another plus for the story, even compared with other books written by Brookmyre, is the clever way he points the reader in the right direction, without showing all the cards he holds in his hand. One of the chapters is titled ‘Plain Sight’ , an oblique reference to a series of carefully placed stage props: a hammer, a newly bought make-up kit, a wheelchair, the poster from that unreleased horror movie. Like ‘Checkov’s gun’ these items are there for a purpose. It may not be the role you expect, but the clue is there to draw your attention.
What else can I say without giving away major spoilers? The author’s early training in investigative journalism is still serving him well in doing a thorough research and in making the power-play connections between crime and corporate interests. ( ‘You really need to catch up with modern politics, Millicent.’ ) . Between the lines, or in plain textual reference, you can catch digs at the current British Prime-Minister and the post-truth era in politics, the role of the press in promoting conspiracy theories.
‘The reason people don’t value facts is because they belong to everyone. Myths and rumours feel like secret knowledge, and so people prize them more’
His Glaswegian jargon remains as charming as ever, once the reader gets re-acquainted with it. The dead-pan delivery of black humour may be toned down, less slapstick and more situational (think a darker ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ as one example), but the present novel will remain memorable to me for its cinema theme and for the life-affirming conversion of Millicent Spark
Something I’ve learned over the past couple of days is that I have money in the bank. And by that, I mean life is money in the bank. Just because I was in the huff with the world didn’t change the fact that it’s been sitting there, waiting to be spent if I decided to.’