Did you hear what I said about the drink?...

[Robin Landseadel]

On Aug 9, 2009, at 9:02 AM, Scott Badger wrote:

> Apologies if this has already been noted, or if too obvious even to  
> be, but it strikes me that there's no less booze in any Chandler  
> story than pot in IV.
>
> Scott

 From a review I wrote of Inherent Vice that will soon appear in a  
local paper:
While many readers of Inherent Vice will note the resonances to The  
Big Lebowski, & some to the Robert Altman/Elliott Gould "Long Goodbye”— 
fewer still recalling "Nick Danger, Third Eye" and an even more  
miniscule slice of that demographic recalling Bonzo Dog Band’s “Big  
Shot”—the key element connecting all these works is Raymond Chandler.  
If any writing of the last 100 years deserves James Wood’s Lit-Crit  
damning-with-faint-praise pejorative "Hysterical Realism," it's  
Chandler's Noir with Literary Pretensions. The mid-sixties satirical  
creation of the Stoned Detective/Hippie as embodied by Nick Danger is  
actually an alternate [call it Po-Mo if it makes you feel more  
comfortable] reading of Raymond Chandler, one that focuses more on the  
actual words on the page, as opposed to somebody else's words on the  
page or dialog from the movie versions of the books or something  
somebody picked up from a college course. No-one ever did the Stoned  
Detective better than Raymond Chandler did in his original,  
unexpurgated, Hays-Office-disapproved, three sheets to the wind in  
Copenhagen, wasted beyond recognition, ripped-to-the tits originals.  
It was a target so big, so obvious, so theatrical, so inherently comic  
it was never a question of "If" Pynchon would take Raymond Chandler at  
his word and simply "Do It," come up with his own tattered casebook  
full of old time-radio sound effects, his own Pulp Fiction.  It was  
only a question of "when?" The Firesigns, the Coens and Altman 'n  
Gould were all making variations, comments and carom shots off of  
Chandler's high-gloss pulp. As does Pynchon.