DID YOU READ

Peering into Munoz’s Hitchcockian Thriller, “What You See In The Dark.”

Peering into Munoz’s Hitchcockian Thriller, “What You See In The Dark.” (photo)

Posted by on

The title of Manuel Munoz’s first novel, “What You See in the Dark,” refers, among other things, to that act of unashamed voyeurism called moviegoing. At the heart of Munoz’s novel, set in Bakersfield, California, in 1959, are the preparations for the making of “Psycho,” which would come out the next year. Munoz understands Hitchcock’s thriller as a series of ruptures presaging the greater ruptures waiting in the wings of American life. Among those ruptures was this: “Psycho” was the first film to suggest that what we saw in the dark, saw us.

The first shot, the camera sneaking into a cheap motel room to catch Janet Leigh and John Gavin in a midday tryst, invites us to be voyeurs. After that, Hitchcock arranged the film so that it’s the moviegoer who’s under scrutiny.

The “cruel eyes” watching you that Anthony Perkins’ Norman Bates speaks of are there in the photos of relatives looking down on Janet Leigh’s Marion Crane as she prepares the getaway with the $40,000 she’s stolen; in Marion’s boss looking enquiringly at her as he catches sight of her hightailing it out of town; the cop interrogating Marion from behind his impenetrably dark aviator glasses; the stuffed birds looking down on her in the parlor of the Bates Motel; Norman watching Marion undress through a peephole; Marion’s dead eyes staring accusingly into the camera after her murder; the surprised and terrified eyes of the detective Arbogast looking into the camera after his face has been slashed; the rotted eyes of Mrs. Bates’ corpse mocking us; those same eyes superimposed on the face of her now completely insane son as he leers obscenely at us after complaining of the eyes he imagines watching him.

The eyes in Munoz’s novel aren’t as cruel, but they’re nearly as prevalent. Mostly they’re the small-town eyes primed to notice every bit of public behavior and use that information to speculate on private behavior. One pair of those eyes belong to the unnamed waitress at the local diner, the character whose voice bookends the novel. She’ll surrender to the clumsy and earnest longings of local boys at the drive-in, but she only has eyes for Dan Watson, the good-looking bartender whose mother, Arlene, is the diner’s senior waitress, and the proprietor of a motel on the outskirts of town.

Elsewhere, the eyes belong to the audience drawn to Los Cuatro Copas, the club where Dan tends bar and where he plays guitar to accompany the occasional singing appearances of Teresa, the Tex-Mex girl he’s started seeing, much to the disappointment of the women in town whose eyes drink him in greedily. They belong to the day laborers who gather in the dawn hours outside Teresa’s apartment, hoping  they’ll find work, catcalling to her when she leaves for her day job in the stock room of the local shoe store. They belong to Cheno, the shy one of their number, who quiets the catcalls, and shyly brings Teresa small presents. The eyes belong to Dan’s mother, Arlene, not quite approving of the attention Dan is showing the Mexican girl, and refusing to see the changes coming into Bakersfield, like the freeway that will leave her motel far from the view of anyone who might stop there for the night. The eyes in the novel also belong to the young waitresses Angela works with, all agog when The Actress (read: Janet Leigh) comes into their diner. (Not knowing that the man lunching with her is her driver, they assume that she’s cheating on the husband they read about in the movie magazines.) And the eyes belong to The Director (read: Alfred Hitchcock), who’s come to town to look at local motels to get ideas for the one that will figure in his film.

Slipping in and out of the consciousness of these characters, Munoz uses what’s essentially the story of a small-town romance gone bad to recreate the feel of America in the fragile moment when things that were whispered, known but not acknowledged, were about to break into the open. 

I said that Munoz understands “Psycho” as a series of ruptures. When Arlene goes to see it, she walks out, shocked — but before Marion’s murder. That’s crucial to Munoz’s understanding that the shock of “Psycho” isn’t just Hitchcock killing off the star 45 minutes into the picture, or the manner of Marion’s death. What shocks Arlene is the sight of Janet Leigh in her brassiere — and, in the moments before Marion is murdered, the first-ever sight of a toilet in an American movie. Here is Munoz describing the moment:

“Arlene rose to her feet and walked with purpose up the aisle, the silhouettes in the dark leaning to see around her. She could hear the pull of the shower curtain and she grimaced at the audacity of people like that Actress, people like that Director, people who reveled in adultery, in bras and cleavage and hairy chests, in theft, in deceit, in madness, in nakedness, in peepholes and lurid spaces. Arlene pushed her way through the velvet-padded door of the screening room to the plush carpet of the lobby, no one out there except the clerk at the concession stand.” [p. 204]

It’s as if, in that passage, a wall has fallen between the luxury that used to denote the movies (the padded door and carpeted lobby) and the starkness of what’s now on screen. This is the moment when the movies cease to be “the movies.” Arlene turns her back on it, but the dislocation “Psycho” presaged is what, in a few years, will define the world she knew.

The way Munoz suggests art bleeding into life has less to do with the echoes of Hitchcock’s film in his novel’s plot — a good employee’s impulsive theft; the murder of a young woman; the mother who smothers her son; the roadside motel slowly dying — than with the irruption of the unforeseen into what seemed like the immutable touchstones of everyday life. No one expects a star to be killed 45 minutes into a movie. And no one expected a young president to be killed, or, as Arlene sees when she watches Petula Clark and Harry Belafonte sing a duet on television, a white woman to rest her hand on a black man’s arm. No one expects businesses that have been solid fixtures of life to decline and die. (Imagine a world without Woolworth’s.) And Arlene, stuck behind the increasingly shabby plate glass of the diner windows is, like Janet Leigh, imprisoned behind what might be a screen of another kind, sentenced to live out the slow winding down of everything that once seemed certain. 

None of this would sting had Munoz not made the changes we see coming to Bakersfield hurt in the way that any interruption of life as it is lived hurts. His prose is precise, his people alive and yet ghostly, as if, like the streets and characters we see in “The Last Picture Show,” the people, the town itself, everything were in rehearsal for its own disappearance. What I keep coming back to in this remarkable first novel is a passage of Teresa watching the light of dawn slowly come through the window of her one-room apartment. The colors have that Sierra Club feeling you always associate with the west, saturated yet delicate. Maybe it’s perverse to remember an image of the rising sun in a novel in which the dark figures so prominently, but it seems the only thing here fixed enough for anyone to count on.

“What You See in the Dark” by Manuel Munoz, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, $23.95.

Watch More
FrankAndLamar_100-Trailer_MPX-1920×1080

Bro and Tell

BFFs And Night Court For Sports

Bromance and Comeuppance On Two New Comedy Crib Series

Posted by on

“Silicon Valley meets Girls meets black male educators with lots of unrealized potential.”

That’s how Carl Foreman Jr. and Anthony Gaskins categorize their new series Frank and Lamar which joins Joe Schiappa’s Sport Court in the latest wave of new series available now on IFC’s Comedy Crib. To better acquaint you with the newbies, we went right to the creators for their candid POVs. And they did not disappoint. Here are snippets of their interviews:

Frank and Lamar

via GIPHY

IFC: How would you describe Frank and Lamar to a fancy network executive you met in an elevator?
Carl: Best bros from college live and work together teaching at a fancy Manhattan private school, valiantly trying to transition into a more mature phase of personal and professional life while clinging to their boyish ways.

IFC: And to a friend of a friend you met in a bar?
Carl: The same way, slightly less coherent.

Anthony: I’d probably speak about it with much louder volume, due to the bar which would probably be playing the new Kendrick Lamar album. I might also include additional jokes about Carl, or unrelated political tangents.

Carl: He really delights in randomly slandering me for no reason. I get him back though. Our rapport on the page, screen, and in real life, comes out of a lot of that back and forth.

IFC: In what way is Frank and Lamar a poignant series for this moment in time?
Carl: It tells a story I feel most people aren’t familiar with, having young black males teach in a very affluent white world, while never making it expressly about that either. Then in tackling their personal lives, we see these three-dimensional guys navigate a pivotal moment in time from a perspective I feel mainstream audiences tend not to see portrayed.

Anthony: I feel like Frank and Lamar continues to push the envelope within the genre by presenting interesting and non stereotypical content about people of color. The fact that this show brought together so many talented creative people, from the cast and crew to the producers, who believe in the project, makes the work that much more intentional and truthful. I also think it’s pretty incredible that we got to employ many of our friends!

Sport Court

Sport Court gavel

IFC: How would you describe Sport Court to a fancy network executive you met in an elevator?
Joe: SPORT COURT follows Judge David Linda, a circuit court judge assigned to handle an ad hoc courtroom put together to prosecute rowdy fan behavior in the basement of the Hartford Ultradome. Think an updated Night Court.

IFC: How would you describe Sport Court to drunk friend of a friend you met in a bar?
Joe: Remember when you put those firecrackers down that guy’s pants at the baseball game? It’s about a judge who works in a court in the stadium that puts you in jail right then and there. I know, you actually did spend the night in jail, but imagine you went to court right that second and didn’t have to get your brother to take off work from GameStop to take you to your hearing.

IFC: Is there a method to your madness when coming up with sports fan faux pas?
Joe: I just think of the worst things that would ruin a sporting event for everyone. Peeing in the slushy machine in open view of a crowd seemed like a good one.

IFC: Honestly now, how many of the fan transgressions are things you’ve done or thought about doing?
Joe: I’ve thought about ripping out a whole row of chairs at a theater or stadium, so I would have my own private space. I like to think of that really whenever I have to sit crammed next to lots of people. Imagine the leg room!

Check out the full seasons of Frank and Lamar and Sport Court now on IFC’s Comedy Crib.

Watch More
Brockmire-103-banner-4

Millennial Wisdom

Charles Speaks For Us All

Get to know Charles, the social media whiz of Brockmire.

Posted by on

He may be an unlikely radio producer Brockmire, but Charles is #1 when it comes to delivering quips that tie a nice little bow on the absurdity of any given situation.

Charles also perfectly captures the jaded outlook of Millennials. Or at least Millennials as mythologized by marketers and news idiots. You know who you are.

Played superbly by Tyrel Jackson Williams, Charles’s quippy nuggets target just about any subject matter, from entry-level jobs in social media (“I plan on getting some experience here, then moving to New York to finally start my life.”) to the ramifications of fictional celebrity hookups (“Drake and Taylor Swift are dating! Albums y’all!”). But where he really nails the whole Millennial POV thing is when he comments on America’s second favorite past-time after type II diabetes: baseball.

Here are a few pearls.

On Baseball’s Lasting Cultural Relevance

“Baseball’s one of those old-timey things you don’t need anymore. Like cursive. Or email.”

On The Dramatic Value Of Double-Headers

“The only thing dumber than playing two boring-ass baseball games in one day is putting a two-hour delay between the boring-ass games.”

On Sartorial Tradition

“Is dressing badly just a thing for baseball, because that would explain his jacket.”

On Baseball, In A Nutshell

“Baseball is a f-cked up sport, and I want you to know it.”


Learn more about Charles in the behind-the-scenes video below.

And if you were born before the late ’80s and want to know what the kids think about Baseball, watch Brockmire Wednesdays at 10P on IFC.

Watch More
Brockmire_101_tout_2

Crown Jules

Amanda Peet FTW on Brockmire

Amanda Peet brings it on Brockmire Wednesday at 10P on IFC.

Posted by on
GIFS via Giphy

On Brockmire, Jules is the unexpected yin to Jim Brockmire’s yang. Which is saying a lot, because Brockmire’s yang is way out there. Played by Amanda Peet, Jules is hard-drinking, truth-spewing, baseball-loving…everything Brockmire is, and perhaps what he never expected to encounter in another human.

“We’re the same level of functional alcoholic.”


But Jules takes that commonality and transforms it into something special: a new beginning. A new beginning for failing minor league baseball team “The Frackers”, who suddenly about-face into a winning streak; and a new beginning for Brockmire, whose life gets a jumpstart when Jules lures him back to baseball. As for herself, her unexpected connection with Brockmire gives her own life a surprising and much needed goose.

“You’re a Goddamn Disaster and you’re starting To look good to me.”

This palpable dynamic adds depth and complexity to the narrative and pushes the series far beyond expected comedy. See for yourself in this behind-the-scenes video (and brace yourself for a unforgettable description of Brockmire’s genitals)…

Want more about Amanda Peet? She’s all over the place, and has even penned a recent self-reflective piece in the New York Times.

And of course you can watch the Jim-Jules relationship hysterically unfold in new episodes of Brockmire, every Wednesday at 10PM on IFC.

Watch More
Powered by ZergNet