Enduring legends are borne of disbelief: Scotland has its Loch Ness Monster, the Himalays its Abominable Snowman, and Oklahoma City, not to be outdone, has the Bookman.

Joe had first heard about the Bookman from a college philosophy professor who doted on spinning myths concerning the biblio-obsessed hermit to his students. Joe, thirsting for seeking out such splendidly apocryphal wonders, in turn told Rod. Together, we sought out the mythic lair of the Bookman in no time. Located in the heart of one of OKC’s hotbeds of illegal activity (you know, one of the fine neighborhoods regularly sporting standoffs showcased by a 6 o’clock, Johnny-on-the-spot newsteam – a tract oft referred to but never actually visited by political candidates as exemplary of the “sad state of welfare”) is Bill’s Yesterday Books.

As we arrived, the chunky, braided proprietor – Bill – was seated in a folding chair in the sweltering outdoors, smoking a cigarette and leisurely reading through the new edition of the gripping Southwestern Bell Oklahoma City Area Telephone Directory. Our hunt was neither deterred nor derailed by the “CLOSED” sign leaning against the establishment’s front, as Joe had been tipped prior by his educator that rumor had it Bill’s Yesterday Books is never officially “open.” Rather, the treasury of literature reportedly had been classified by crime-busting city officials as a “fire hazard,” exposing Bill to the potential of touch liability issues, steep consequences and monetary fines.

We would soon discover why.

(more…)

When Dan Brown’s THE DA VINCI CODE hit it big – and “big” really isn’t an accurate word for it – it was inevitable that Hollywood would pounce to make it into a movie. It also was inevitable that the result would mine box-office gold.

What I didn’t expect is that said motion picture would be a leaden, crashing bore.

Say what you will about Brown’s book – that includes you, offended Catholics and people who now pretend they never liked it when they totally it – but there’s no denying that sucker had a pace that rivaled a toddler after downing a sippy cup full of Red Bull. With Brown’s purposely plotted three-page chapters propelling you from one set piece to the next, CODE flew by in nothing flat.

By comparison, Ron Howard’s adaptation – already overlong at 149 minutes – crawls on the floor, about as speedily as the assassinated character who opens the film, with every scene drawn out past its welcome, overstuffed with interminable speeches. There’s something to be said for brevity – a concept likely eradicated from Opie’s brain once he won the Best Director Oscar.

Ironically, the film may be among Howard’s most accomplished simply in terms of how sharp it looks. It’s well-made, with obvious care spent on lighting locations perfectly, on getting details just right. But it’s for next to nothing, as Akiva Goldman’s screenplay hampers all efforts from the get-go, making one colossal mistake: treating the source material as if it were literature.

Look, I loved reading CODE – I admitted that proudly before the hype set in and I’ll admit it proudly today – but it’s a B-level thriller. There’s nothing wrong with that, especially since it’s a B-level thriller that works like a fine-tuned machine. But Goldman treats it as if it were a work of serious art, where every sentence had been constructed with precious care, like a Jenga tower, with designs on a Pulitzer Prize.

In doing so, the fun is sucked clean out of it, leaving us with one history lesson (and quasi-history lesson) after another, all of which numb our attention. Though it hews closely to the original story, there’s nothing here that sheds light on why the book sold two bazillion copies and counting. Things distract us: Tom Hanks’ ill-advised academic mullet, Audrey Tautou’s neck mole, Ian McKellen’s shameless honey-baked ham of a performance. Brown didn’t give us a chance to get distracted; if something threatened to lose steam, the chapter would be over and we’d be off to another character entirely.

The listless tempo carries with it an unintended side effect: highlighting how entirely preposterous Brown’s puzzle-upon-puzzle plot is. Never mind how an old man with mere minutes to live could plant hidden clue upon hidden clue by the minute chance that the people he intended to follow it would indeed – one wonders why the treasure hunt be so elongated when, honestly, it needs no steps beyond the first one. That’s something easily forgiven in the reading experience (if thought is even given to it at all), but maddeningly apparent in the movies.

There’s a truly crackerjack piece of cinema to be made from Brown’s short bibliography, full of action and suspense. But it’s not going to come from a prestige project – Hollywood would be wise to go sleek and quick, rather than with someone looking to add another statuette or two to his mantle. –Rod Lott

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