(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . Books So Bad They're Good: Actors Who Just Write Stuff [1] ['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.', 'Backgroundurl Avatar_Large', 'Nickname', 'Joined', 'Created_At', 'Story Count', 'N_Stories', 'Comment Count', 'N_Comments', 'Popular Tags'] Date: 2023-02-04 Unfortunately, for every Carrie Fisher or George Clooney who writes as well as they act, there are just as many (if not more) who become convinced their words are as good as their performances, dash off something that purports to be a book, and then gets a publisher to print the result and market it to the adoring public. The dire results may be snapped up by eager fans, but the general public, not so much once word gets around: Paradise Alley, by Sylvester Stallone — Sylvester Stallone originally wrote this novel about working class Italians who try to make good by becoming professional wrestlers at the very beginning of his career, when he was best known as either an extra in films like Downhill Racer or as one of the title characters in A Party at Kitty and Stud’s. He also wrote a script based on the novel, which he sold to an unscrupulous producer he later referred to as “a maggot,” who made him sign a contract that was dignified by the term “predatory.” None of this would be particularly noteworthy to anyone but Sylvester Stallone had it not been for his subsequent career. Mr. Maggot, who still had the rights to Paradise Alley, promptly exercised his option on the script and Stallone’s participation after Rocky’s surprise success, and a couple of years later both the film and the original novel were released. The film did well enough at the box office despite Mr. Maggot insisting on trimming fully a quarter of the first cut, and reviews that accused Stallone of ripping off himself even though Paradise Alley had been written first. The book was another matter entirely. Most readers assumed it was a novelization of the script rather than the other way around, and despite loyal Stallone fans snapping it up for the cover photo of Stallone in a leather jacket sneering around a lit cigarette, it basically sank without a trace. Alleged local color (a major character named “Kid Salami,” a minor character named “Burp”) and wrestling matches described with short sentences that read like attempts at Japanese poetry did not help, and the book is best remembered as a curiosity if it’s remembered at all. That is, unless you really, really like Sylvester Stallone sneering and smoking cigarettes. Then it’s worth picking up a used copy. Really. Holy Cow: A Modern Dairy Tale, by David Duchovny — based solely on his credentials, David Duchovny should have been able to write a decent novel. He majored in English at Princeton, has an MA from Yale, and got partway through a PhD in literature before becoming an actor, so he presumably has some familiarity with the basics of outlining, plotting, and characterization. Better, his proposed PhD was going to be on magic and technology in modern fiction, which is a rich and juicy subject that should have provided him with plenty of examples of how to write a decently surreal novel. Except that, well, he can’t write fiction. At all. I mean...it’s one thing to write a parable about a cow, a pig, and a turkey who decide to leave their farm in upstate New York for a better life. It’s another entirely to name the cow “Elsie Bovary,” have the pig rename himself “Shalom” and convert to Judaism (complete with circumcision) so he can live in Israel and not be rendered into nice crispy delicious bacon, and include a turkey who deliberately starves himself so he won’t feature in a live action recreation of Norman Rockwell’s painting Freedom from Want. Throw in the sudden appearance of former cigarette logo Joe Camel (and how Duchovny got away with that I have no idea since Joe Camel is, well, copyrighted) to discuss Palestinian politics, a great many very self-consciously literary jokes (see above), casting suggestions for a potential film right there in the text, and an ending that involves Shalom the pig and Joe Camel winning the Nobel Peace Prize, and...well. Do I really need to say anything else? Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff, by Sean Penn — Sean Penn is a truly brilliant actor, with a slew of awards and nominations including a Golden Globe and two Oscars. He comes from a brilliant family, too; his parents were both prominent character actors, his brother Chris is also a well known character actor, and his other brother Michael is married to songwriter and former ‘Til Tuesday frontwoman Aimee Mann. Even his first two wives were first rank talents; he was briefly married to Madonna in a ceremony that was disrupted by paparazzi in a helicopter, and then had a much longer marriage to Robin Wright, who can (and has) played roles ranging from Buttercup in The Princess Bride to General Antiope in Wonder Woman. Penn has also made a name for himself as a talented director, with several major European nominations for films such as Into the Wild and The Pledge. Penn’s personal life has been messy — there were accusations of domestic violence from Madonna and emotional abuse from Robin Wright, plus several legal and political controversies — but there is absolutely no denying his talent, or that he is more than worthy of every single nomination and statuette he’s accumulated over the years. The same, alas, cannot be said of his work as a writer. Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff was published in 2018, and just what Penn thought he was doing is still up for debate. The story of a guy named, you guessed it, “Bob Honey” who abandons his life as a septic tank salesman to become an international assassin of old people who sap societal resources, the book is so sloppily written that it’s impossible to tell if Bob Honey and his stuff are real or a fantasy of the narrator, one “Pappy Pariah.” We do learn that Bob yearns for a pretty young thing, Annie, of whom Pappy, or Bob, or maybe Sean Penn’s overweening ego, says, "Effervescence lived in her every cellular expression, and she had spizzerinctum to spare." There’s a section where Bob lives underwater (in the ocean, not a septic tank, thank God), another where he supposedly helps Katrina victims, several assassination attempts on Bob, and an epilogue where Bob writes a letter to “Mr. Landlord” (probably the 45th President) that ends with “Tweet me bitch, I date you.” Bob Honey then beats an investigative journalist who’s gotten wise to his dual existence to death with a mallet and flees straight into a sequel, Bob Honey Sings Jimmy Crack Corn, which culminates in the White House exploding in what Kirkus Reviews wondered was a deliberate homage to Fight Club. No. I am most definitely not making this up. Nor am I making up the reviews, which were some of the most vicious in recent memory: “Sean Penn the novelist must be stopped” — Claire Fallon, The Huffington Post. “The worst novel in human history” — Mark Hill, Cracked. “Repellant and stupid on so many levels” — Sian Cain, The Guardian. "4 parts alliteration, 1 part wry masturbation references” — Jonah Goldberg, The National Review. “A puddle of vomit” — anonymous reviewer on GoodReads. “... the debut novel of actor Sean Penn, who, terrifyingly, seems to be giving up acting in favor of poorly aping Thomas Pynchon and successfully embodying Charles Bukowski” — Randall Colburn, The AV Club ”Agonizing” — The New York Times. ” Sean Penn has written a book. Someone stop him from writing another one” — Edgar-winning crime novelist Anna Mazzola. ” By [the end of Bob Honey Sings Jimmy Crack Corn], the Landlord is dead, Bob is president, and you will have a headache” — Rien Fertel, The AV Club. Oh, there were exceptions — Paul Theroux and, God help us all, Salman Rushdie both loved it, along with friends of Penn’s who compared him to Jack Kerouac — but overall the reviews were so terrible that Penn felt compelled to spend part of the epilogue to Bob Honey Sings Jimmy Crack Corn denouncing his critics with the following statement blaming them for the sequel: “To the critics of Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff, the few who understood it, and the many who never read it. Without you, I may have shelved my typewriter for good.” If only he had! %%%%% Have you ever read a really bad book by an otherwise talented actor/director/singer? Seen Paradise Alley or any of Sylvester Stallone’s work that doesn’t involve either Rocky Balboa or John Rambo? Realized that David Duchovny wrote a book? Is there a copy of any of these fine tomes stuffed into the insulation beneath the knotty pine paneling in your rumpus room? It’s a blisteringly cold night here at the Last Homely Shack, so huddle about the fire pit and share…. %%%%% [END] --- [1] Url: https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2023/2/4/2149105/-Books-So-Bad-They-re-Good-Actors-Who-Just-Write-Stuff Published and (C) by Daily Kos Content appears here under this condition or license: Site content may be used for any purpose without permission unless otherwise specified. via Magical.Fish Gopher News Feeds: gopher://magical.fish/1/feeds/news/dailykos/