Part of me wonders if there might be an "Is it Real or is it Memorex" question that should be asked here (possibly because of the inclusion of a statement promoting a "new" foreward to the book written by "The guy who played Tinker") -- but I'm honestly hoping that I'm wrong in my Photoshop suspicions, because if this thing really does exist, there's no way that it couldn't be utterly and completely awesome.
For a short while back in the day movie novelizations became sort of a guilty pleasure of mine, as I was too young to get into R-rated films, but still susceptible to the relentless advertising that would surround such things (promising scene after scene filled with murder, explosions, mayhem, and movie boobs -- all of which my parents objected to me seeing for some reason or another..).
But then one day during a weekly library trip with my mother I came upon the revelation that there were literally shelves upon shelves of R-rated movie books available for my dirty little mind to read, it seemed (for a short, blissful time) that I had discovered the ultimate in pre-cable television loopholes.
But then there were other movies that didn't have such literary beginnings (Roadhouse being a prime example) that would still somehow find their way into print -- usually at the hand of some guy who's agent signed him on to watch the film and transcribe it more or less verbatim onto the page.
This means all the character development, flashbacks, inner monologues, and connecting scenes that you might normally get from a book that's been turned into a script are still missing, which to anyone who enjoys a good book can't help but come off as anything less than a total gyp.
It's like the ultimate goal of these things was to leave you sort of disappointed with the book itself, which might lead a lot of people to go and see the movie anyways -- so I guess in the end everything worked out the way the publishers/studio executives wanted, but for those of us who still had parents who freaked out at the idea of their child seeing an R-rated film before his time (who at the time didn't yet have the group of friends he could sneak into said films with under the guise of "just going to hang out at the mall"), the whole novelization thing started to wear thin once you realized as much as it was a book based off a movie you wanted to see, in the end it was always a really shitty read.
All that being said, when it comes to Swayze's masterpiece -- all bets are off. Anything that can even profess to add extra crappiness to what might be the most entertaining bad movie ever made is something that couldn’t do anything but rock.
And yes, it is his Masterpiece. Don't even try to fool yourself -- aside from the fact that it's utterly unentertaining, formulaic RomCom crap, Dirty Dancing could have been made by any of the sorta homosexual really skinny acting icons of the day with any level of formal dance training talent (Kevin Bacon, Richard Gere.. the list writes itself).
But the fact that Patrick effing Swayze, (only months after Dirty Dancing had become an hit -- providing movie viewers with the once in a lifetime opportunity to watch the exact moment when a would-be megastar decided to toss his career in the toilet); complete with the mullet hairdo, the forced Texas accent, and the suggestion that Dalton -- the professional "cooler" has a philosophy degree from NYU, (which apparently is supposed to be the justification for his practice of doing Tai Chi half-naked at inopportune moments throughout the entire film) -- shows up on the screen trying as hard as he possibly can to desperately be serious, deep, and above all tough -- and the result still ends up being a completely kick ass movie in the end?
Look, I know this movie is an utter piece of crap -- but if I'm flipping channels late at night or on a weekend afternoon and I come across that beyond awful scene where Dalton tells the other bouncers how to be "nice" -- I'm stopping. And I'm not moving until the moment when Swayze has that fake zen moment where he realizes the error of using violence to stop violence -- and decides not to rip Ben Gazrra's trachea out, but instead leaves the opportunity open for the townspeople who have finally stopped fearing their oppressor come forth one at a time and shoot him in the stomach.
Movie novelizations still happen from time to time, but they seem to be a bit of a dying breed. When you think about it -- things like "Road House: The Novel" are probably a big part of the reason why.
For a short while back in the day movie novelizations became sort of a guilty pleasure of mine, as I was too young to get into R-rated films, but still susceptible to the relentless advertising that would surround such things (promising scene after scene filled with murder, explosions, mayhem, and movie boobs -- all of which my parents objected to me seeing for some reason or another..).
But then one day during a weekly library trip with my mother I came upon the revelation that there were literally shelves upon shelves of R-rated movie books available for my dirty little mind to read, it seemed (for a short, blissful time) that I had discovered the ultimate in pre-cable television loopholes.
Explosions and Mayhem were finally mine, thanks to the scores of hack ghostwriters willing to sell themselves out.The problem was, if you actually wanted to read a film novelization -- you quickly came to realize that there were different varieties you had to navigate. For example, many movies that were actually based on books prompted publishers to re-release the original novels with new cover artwork (and frequently middle of the book inserts featuring photographs from the films themselves). Or to put it another way, you always had an easier time finding Clive Barker or Steven King novels once they made a movie out of them.Sadly, movie boobs rarely ever made it past the censors -- and the ones
that did really never could hold a candle to their celluloid forbears (nsfw).
But then there were other movies that didn't have such literary beginnings (Roadhouse being a prime example) that would still somehow find their way into print -- usually at the hand of some guy who's agent signed him on to watch the film and transcribe it more or less verbatim onto the page.
This means all the character development, flashbacks, inner monologues, and connecting scenes that you might normally get from a book that's been turned into a script are still missing, which to anyone who enjoys a good book can't help but come off as anything less than a total gyp.
It's like the ultimate goal of these things was to leave you sort of disappointed with the book itself, which might lead a lot of people to go and see the movie anyways -- so I guess in the end everything worked out the way the publishers/studio executives wanted, but for those of us who still had parents who freaked out at the idea of their child seeing an R-rated film before his time (who at the time didn't yet have the group of friends he could sneak into said films with under the guise of "just going to hang out at the mall"), the whole novelization thing started to wear thin once you realized as much as it was a book based off a movie you wanted to see, in the end it was always a really shitty read.
All that being said, when it comes to Swayze's masterpiece -- all bets are off. Anything that can even profess to add extra crappiness to what might be the most entertaining bad movie ever made is something that couldn’t do anything but rock.
And yes, it is his Masterpiece. Don't even try to fool yourself -- aside from the fact that it's utterly unentertaining, formulaic RomCom crap, Dirty Dancing could have been made by any of the sorta homosexual really skinny acting icons of the day with any level of formal dance training talent (Kevin Bacon, Richard Gere.. the list writes itself).
Put any other actor in that role and the movie becomes just another action film with explosions, bar room brawls, and naked women standing on the roof of a farmhouse that just happens to be across the street from the villain's mansion where he and his henchmen terrorize the townsfolk with their Monster Truck.Roadhouse is brilliant because of Swayze.
But the fact that Patrick effing Swayze, (only months after Dirty Dancing had become an hit -- providing movie viewers with the once in a lifetime opportunity to watch the exact moment when a would-be megastar decided to toss his career in the toilet); complete with the mullet hairdo, the forced Texas accent, and the suggestion that Dalton -- the professional "cooler" has a philosophy degree from NYU, (which apparently is supposed to be the justification for his practice of doing Tai Chi half-naked at inopportune moments throughout the entire film) -- shows up on the screen trying as hard as he possibly can to desperately be serious, deep, and above all tough -- and the result still ends up being a completely kick ass movie in the end?
Look, I know this movie is an utter piece of crap -- but if I'm flipping channels late at night or on a weekend afternoon and I come across that beyond awful scene where Dalton tells the other bouncers how to be "nice" -- I'm stopping. And I'm not moving until the moment when Swayze has that fake zen moment where he realizes the error of using violence to stop violence -- and decides not to rip Ben Gazrra's trachea out, but instead leaves the opportunity open for the townspeople who have finally stopped fearing their oppressor come forth one at a time and shoot him in the stomach.
..Because it's just that good.
[Listening to: Static-X – "So" ]
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